


One Irreversible Choice

by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam dies, Angst, Eventual Shatt, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Growing Up, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic School, Minor Hunk/Kinkade (Voltron), Minor Matt Holt/Shiro, Pidge Comes Out as Trans Mid-Story, Secret Admirer, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Temporary Shadam, Urban Fantasy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikanaiko/pseuds/YouAreInAComaWakeUp
Summary: Ever since the first time Lance strummed a guitar and saw frost gather at his fingertips, he'd been looking forward to the day he'd enroll at the Galaxy Garrison, a school where students are taught to manipulate their quintessence into magic through musical instruments.When Lance finally turns twelve, he can think of nothing but the friends he'll make and the amazing things he'll learn to do, but things get off to a rocky start when he accidentally spills coffee all over a very important person.Important to the world, or the school? Well, that depends on who you ask.But important to Lance...Unfortunately, that's a solid yes.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 325
Kudos: 260





	1. Welcome to the Galaxy Garrison

At the very edge of Altea, just as the lavender cobblestone and the reflective pools gave way to the rolling, grassy plains that divided it from Daibazaal, there sat a train station.

The platform had no roof no walls. There was an enclosed space behind the grand, looming gate, a place to buy tickets and take shelter from the rain, but the tracks themselves were never in shadow. They kissed the sun-warmed cobblestone, lined up parallel with the shimmering canal, greeted the morning with the flowers, and were protected by the elements by nothing but a great statue of a powerful lion.

There was nothing particularly special about this statue. It was just like the one that sat atop the Garrison, and the one that guarded the borders of the Olkari Forest, and the one that warmed the hill over the sealed and dormant volcano to the west of the city, and the one that knelt at the gates of the old scaultrite mines. The only feature of note about this statue was that it stood in the middle of the canal, surrounded by water on all sides that was normally intended to be crossed only through the doors that led to the ticket booth.

Well, that, and that the statue was, at present, not alone in that canal.

Leading from the statue to the flowerbeds that surrounded the canal was a temporary bridge, built from blocky, disjointed pillars of ice, just wide enough to allow someone to hop their way across.

And someone had done just that.

A boy, perhaps twelve years old, sat on the base of the statue, his back against the lion's leg, a pearly blue guitar in his hands. With every string he plucked, the frost that fanned around his body stretched a little farther, crawling in swirls around the lion's paws and along her tail, but the boy didn't seem to notice, lost in the tune of his own melody.

_"Something's arriving..."_

With the boy's song came tiny flames, embers floating in the air around him.

_"Something's arriving on laughter and smiles and tears..._

_Something like you..._

_And you, you wait for me..._

_Like every star twinkling through life and death..._

_Darkness and light..._

_You're something right..._

_Something that's always been there, unknown in the despair, yet you cling..._

_Longing to be seen..."_

The airborne embers flickered and faded, and the boy's hands stilled his guitar to silence.

Passively, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a phone with a case as blue as his guitar.

He tapped a button on the side, and the screen came alive with a glow that caught his skin in the still-gentle morning. The same warm skin that quickly drained of color when he saw the time.

"Oh, no!"

With an urgent leap, the boy hopped from the base of the statue to the nearest ice pillar and turned around to shove his guitar hastily into its case.

"Gotta go, girl!" he uttered in a single breath, patting the lion's foot. "But I promise I'll be back someday. Just you wait. I'll be the best Paladin you ever had."

The boy flashed the lion a cocky grin and a wave, as if he expected it to wave back, and spun on his heel to dash across the frozen pillars. 

This boy was Lance McClain. He was, indeed, twelve years old. He was also bilingual, a decent soccer player, a self-proclaimed ladies' man, and very proud of his looks. He had a cat named Flash, his favorite color was sky blue, he was late for his first day at the Galaxy Garrison School for the Quintessentially Inclined, and, much more important than any of that, he was on his way to make the second-worst first impression he would ever make throughout the course of his entire life.

_SPLASH_

" _Augh!_ "

"Sorry!" called Lance, casting only the most fleeting of glances in the direction of the boy he'd just doused in hot coffee. He winced sympathetically, wishing he could stop to make sure the kid was okay, but knowing he didn't have time.

Karma would most likely have its way with him later in life, and when that time came, he would have no choice but to accept it. But for the moment, it was all he could do to send the guy with black hair that was probably glaring daggers into his back--for, admittedly, good reason--a silent string of profuse apologies and a desperate hope that the rest of his day would go well to make up for that bit of bad luck he'd suffered in the morning just because Lance had to practice his quintessence control for "five" more minutes that wound up being more like thirty.

Lance wove through the crowded morning streets, past men in suits on treks to dreary meetings and claustrophobic cubicles, between elderly couples out on breakfast dates, through equally-late teens ushering their younger siblings to elementary school, all the way to the idyllic Garrison campus.

The Garrison looked more like a state capitol than a place of learning. 

Its tall, white walls, its domed roofs, its tree-like pillars all seemed to say "Important People Lie Beyond This Point"--which wasn't wrong, exactly--but it wasn't the architecture Lance was looking at as he drew close. It was the gate.

The very, very closed gate.

And the boy crying in front of it.

"Hey--"

The boy looked up, still blubbering, and took one look at Lance before flinching away, arms over his head, but he didn't move fast enough.

Lance saw what he was trying to cover up, and that headband only meant one thing.

_A Garrett..._

"Are you late, too?" asked Lance.

The Garrett sniffled and cautiously lowered his arms, hopefully sensing Lance wasn't a threat.

He nodded, and Lance reached out to help him off the ground.

"At least I'm not the only one."

The Garrett looked at Lance's offered hand, sniffed, and took it.

"I'm Lance."

"Uh... Tsuyoshi."

"All right, Tsuyoshi, what do you say we break in?"

"B-Break--?! What?!"

"Look, it's easy." Lance pointed through the gate. "See that guard station? I can tell from here there's no one in there. All we have to do to get one of us to the other side of the gate, open it up from the inside, and let the other guy in. See? Easy-peasy."

Tsuyoshi pursed his lips, doubtful. "How...are we supposed to do that?"

"You look like a big, strong, hunky guy," said Lance. "You give me a boost, I climb over, and it'll be a snap."

Tsuyoshi, for some reason, looked even more doubtful. "...Okay," he relented. "But I'm going on record right now and saying, this? This is a bad idea."

"We'll see how you feel once we're inside," said Lance, walking to the sturdier, brick side of the wall. "Come on! Up we go!"

Tsuyoshi responded by hesitantly lowering himself to the ground by the bricks and lacing his fingers together, preparing them to take a foot.

"Thanks, buddy!"

Lance stepped onto the laced hands, and Tsuyoshi dutifully heaved him over.

Lance rolled onto the top and hopped gracefully to the other side, minding his guitar. Like an arrow, he shot across the greens and into the guard station. It took all of two seconds to find the tiny, green button reading "OPEN" in even tinier green font.

He smacked the button, took note of the flashing light beside it, and skipped out, just in time to see Tsuyoshi gaping at him from the other side.

"What?" Lance beamed. "You didn't have faith in me? Or did you think I'd just leave you here?"

"No!" Tsuyoshi scrubbed his cheeks furiously. "I-- I just--"

"Come on, you big hunk!" Lance made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "The gate's on a timer! You can cry on this side!"

Tsuyoshi yelped and ran through the open gateway. Sure enough, as soon as he passed through, it closed behind him.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Most people would have, um, ditched me on the other side."

"Really?" Lance made for the auditorium doors, Tsuyoshi close behind him. "A hunk like you?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Uh, because you're a _hunk!_ " Lance slapped Tsuyoshi's arm. "Obviously! In fact, you know what? That's what I'm calling you from now on. Hunk. 'Cause you're a hunk. A hunky knight in shining armor who rescued me in my time of need."

Hunk's eyes widened. His lip trembled.

Lance smacked his shoulder. "Hey, I know I said you could cry on this side, but we're still running late, so if you could, like, hold it in for later, that'd be great."

"Yeah." Hunk sniffed. "Yeah, I-- Yeah."

Lance held the door open for him. "So I know you're Base. I mean, Garrett, right? Gotta be Base. What's your instrument?"

"You...know I'm a Garrett?"

"Kind of hard to miss the headband, buddy."

Hunk reached for the ends behind his neck and twisted them nervously. "But you helped me--"

"You helped me first." Lance caught Hunk by the wrist and dragged him through the door. "And like, yeah, I know Garretts always get picked to train under the Yellow Paladin, but I don't want that. You're not my competition. I'm Strum. Acoustic guitar. It's Blaytz I'm trying to impress. So what do you play?"

"Um..." Hunk licked his lips. "Double bass."

Lance smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sweet."

Hunk ducked his head.

Lance rolled his eyes. "Okay, look, give me a month. We're gonna get you out of that shell you're in."

"...You are?"

"Promise." Lance flashed Hunk a grin and opened the doors from the atrium to the auditorium proper just a crack, just enough to see the stage lights.

Full, beautiful music bled into the atrium.

Yep, orientation had definitely started already.

Lance pressed a finger to his lips and waved Hunk over. With the students and faculty all focused on the performers in the center of the stage, Lance was able to worm his way to an empty seat by one of the aisles without being seen by much of anyone.

He gestured to the seat beside his and patted it.

Hunk broke out into a grin and took the seat eagerly.

Lance nearly went in for a high five before deciding a fistbump was much quieter.

Hunk reciprocated softly.

"Now blow it up," whispered Lance.

Hunk made a silent explosion with his fingers.

Lance grinned, and Hunk grinned back.

Yeah, Lance would make a partner in crime out of him yet.

Comfortable in his seat beside Hunk, Lance turned his attention to the performers on the stage, and he realized he recognized one.

That was Shiro. Takashi Shirogane. As in one of _the_ Shiroganes.

He stood at the back, striking a large drum with powerful blows. 

On either side of him knelt a beautiful girl with long, thick clouds of white hair that fell across her shoulders, and an older girl with long, black hair tied back with an orange headband.

"That's my sister!" whispered Hunk.

"On the cello?" asked Lance, as if the headband didn't give it away. 

"No, Princess Allura," said Hunk. "Yes, on the cello!"

Lance raised his eyebrows. Not at Hunk's sudden boldness, though that was also surprising, but at the identity of the girl with white hair.

Princess Allura. King Alfor's daughter.

She was pretty. And if Lance wanted to have a shot at the Blue Lion someday, he'd have to be better than her.

Which, listening to her at the shamisen, would be a challenge.

But he was up to it.

At the front of the stage, ahead of Shiro and Allura and Hunk's sister, were two boys with glasses.

The paler of the two, a boy with blond hair that nearly reached his shouders, played a trumpet that rose high to the ceiling, mingling strangely with the shamisen and the cello and Shiro's drum. It was almost bizarre how such wildly different instruments from different cultures could mingle so beautifully.

And they all came together with the boy beside the trumpet player, belting out a melody in perfect Altean, counter to the trumpet's.

Lance leaned back, relaxed for the first time since he saw how late he was.

It wasn't to last.

The same doors he and Hunk had come in through flew open.

The performers kept playing, either ignorant to or trained to play through any interruption, but a low buzz of startled conversation rolled across the students in the stands.

Lance, by contrast to the people around him, was speechless.

He recognized the kid that had just burst in.

The long, dark hair, the death glare, the...

...The _coffee stains_ on his _pants._

"Oh... Ohhhh, geez..." Lance sank in his chair.

"Why?" spluttered Hunk, startled. "What-- What's-- What's wrong? Why are you--? Why are you--?" Hunk squinted at the door. "Do you know that guy?"

Lance shrank behind Hunk's blessedly-wide body. "Never seen him before in my life..."

But as Lance peered around Hunk's shoulders, the guy he'd spilled coffee on definitely saw him. The guy climbed up the same set of stairs to the same row of seats Lance had chosen, cold and palpably angry, and dropped himself into a seat right across the aisle, only stairs separating his glare from Lance's no doubt pale face.

Lance shrank in his seat, guitar shifting behind him.

Of course. Of course he'd be another student. Of course he'd been just as late as Lance. And from the looks of things, Lance had only made him later.

The red and white hoodie he was wearing hadn't been there before. He'd probably grabbed it to cover at least part of the coffee stains. 

Lance hid his face behind his hand. Man, just his luck...

Below on the stage, Shiro struck the drums loud enough to shake every seat.

A gust of wind rose around him, pulling his long bangs toward the ceiling.

Hunk's sister pulled her bow across the cello's strings in sharp, quick motions that lifted and dropped the entire stage.

The trumpet player blasted a strong and confident fanfare that dragged large, beautiful flowers from the mortar between the stone stage's bricks.

Princess Allura plucked a quick, complex series of notes that created a flower of her own, icy petals jutting out of the stone in a spiral around her kneeling body.

_"Voltron cried out!"_

The auditorium filled with cheers as the singer switched seamlessly from Altean to English, flames roaring around him as if to cloak him like an angry god, distracting Lance from all thoughts of coffee-stained students who might have marked him for death.

_"For five just Paladins,_

_Voltron cried out!"_

Lance inched forward in his seat, transfixed by the dancing patterns in the flames.

_"Those five just Paladins_

_Never found out!_

_In one short breath, the world was claimed,_

_And in the chaos, torn in twain,_

_The two young spirits cried the names_

_Of Voltron's love in flood and flames._

_Forever caught in silvered frame,_

_Destinies entwined, contained,_

_Reaching out through silver's stain,_

_Until once more did chaos reign._

_When all is lost, but love remains,_

_When shattered worlds heal ancient pain,_

_When welded is the five-linked chain,_

_Then shall Voltron rise again!"_

The raging flames died with the singer's voice.

Shiro's wind ceased to rise.

The stage stilled its turbulent waves.

The ice shattered with a bone-chilling snap.

The flowers withered to dust.

The stage lights dimmed, plunging the auditorium in darkness.

Lance held his breath until the lights bloomed once more across the stage and the students around him erupted into applause.

"Whoa..."

A man in Paladin's armor crossed the stage from the rear curtains to the front.

Unlike with his daughter, Lance recognized this man immediately. 

King Alfor of Altea.

As king, he was only a figurehead, but it wasn't his royal blood Lance nor anyone else knew him for. No, Alfor's true claim to fame was his position as the current Red Paladin of Voltron.

"A wonderful demonstration by our current Paladins in training!" announced Alfor.

"Shiro, our current candidate for Black Paladin, exhibits a strong understanding of his own Strike quintessence, and with it, the power of wind."

Shiro demonstrated his power on his drum, summoning another gust of wind with two firm strikes on his drum.

"Strike quintessence," continued Alfor, "is born of steady rhythms. It lends itself to percussion instruments, like Shiro's wadaiko, and serves as the backbone of an ensemble. Without a sturdy beat, a song's tempo can dissolve into chaos, and without a sturdy leader, so, too, can a team dissolve."

Alfor strode across the floor to Hunk's sister and the cello she held upright.

"Base quintessence, as exhibited here by Aonani's cello, is full and strong. It is, of course, earth magic."

Hunk's sister demonstrated by dragging her bow across her strings and, in turn, lifting Alfor a foot into the air by dragging a brick out of the stage beneath Alfor's feet.

Alfor set a hand on her shoulder. "Base quintessence, like Strike quintessence, is strong and steady, and its users are known for being as reliable as the bass tones backing a melody. It is the warm foundation of both a team and a piece of music."

Aonani lowered Alfor back to the floor, and he crossed the stage to where Princess Allura knelt.

"Allura here, my dear daughter--"

Before Alfor could speak a word more, Allura ran her pick across the strings of her shamisen and coated the stage in a wave of glittering frost.

"...Is trying to upstage me," finished Alfor, earning a few chuckles from the crowd. "More importantly, she is a user of Strum quintessence. Strum is inherently versatile. Like Base and Strike quintessence, it can be steady and rhythmic..."

Allura demonstrated by striking the same string again and again, building snow from the layer of frost she'd spread across the floor.

"...Or it can be melodic and precise."

Allura plucked a series of sharp notes that sent sharp spears of ice shooting up behind her.

"Whatever a team, or a melody, needs, a Strum user can provide. Like water, they flow and change shape to fill any necessary container." 

Lance nodded sharply.

"A Breath user, on the other hand..." Alfor crossed to the trumpet player. "Is an _expert_ at precision."

The trumpeter pressed his trumpet to his lips and played a sharp, pointed fanfare, and vines reached out from the fibers of his own clothes, painting him in an array of colors as they flowered.

"Matt here controls his breathing to create melody, to carve variety into a piece. And as much control as he has over his breath, as deft as he is with his fingers--don't you wink, Mr. Holt; we are in mixed company--he is also in possession of a quick wit. As bright as the color of flowers, as sharp as the note of a trumpet, anyone specializing in his own Breath quintessence must have a clear and purposeful mind."

Alfor gestured to the boy at his left, the singer.

"And at last, we have Adam, my own successor, and the one to take the Red Lion should anything happen to me in the midst of a great emergency. In Adam, we have a Strain user. Strain users are so named because they are the most likely to injure themselves using their own quintessence. Unlike with Base, Breath, Strike, or Strum, Strain users do not use an instrument to evoke. They are their own instuments. While this can be extremely convenient, as it means you can use Strain quintessence in spur-of-the moment situations, it also means that if you fail to take care of your instrument, you can lose your connection to your chosen quintessence forever. A broken violin can be replaced. A broken body cannot."

Lance instinctively reached for his own throat.

"Strain quintessence is unique," continued Alfor. "Unlike its brothers, it speaks messages in not just tone, but in word. Users of Strain quintessence find its effects most powerful when they sing their own words. It requires as much bravery to bare your soul as it does to risk your body. This is the mark of any student of the Red Lion. The bravery--or recklessness--to make yourself vulnerable, because the risk of loss means nothing to the promise of something more."

Alfor nodded.

"Adam, if you would..."

Adam took a deep breath that seemed to drag the entire world into silence, and he bowed his head. Lance squirmed in his chair. So many seconds passed, Lance wasn't sure Adam would sing at all.

That quickly changed.

_"At first I was afraid, I was petrified..."_

Fire rolled out from behind his back in two ribbons, like dragons' wings, silencing anyone who might have dared to laugh at his choice of song.

_"Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side..."_

A second set of wings joined the first, stretching out over his head.

_"But then I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong..."_

A final set of wings appeared beneath the first two, granting Adam the appearance of a fierce archangel.

_"And I grew strong, and I learned how to get along..."_

"Excellent," said Alfor. "Now you can stop singing that before you give poor Shiro a heart attack."

Adam threw a smirk over his shoulder.

Aonani, Matt, and Allura all broke into giggles.

Shiro simply shrugged, as if to say he was used to Adam's wrath.

"Strain, Strum, Strike, Base, and Breath," said Alfor. "Red, Blue, Black, Yellow, and Green. Each of these magics represents an element of not only music, but of the makings of each of us, what is quintessential to any being. Bravery, versatility, leadership, reliability, and wit. Some of us already know where our strengths lie."

Lance squeezed the strap of his guitar case.

"Some of us are still figuring ourselves out."

Across the aisle, Lance heard the boy he'd spilled coffee on adjust in his seat.

"But regardless of where you stand now, it is my sincerest hope that, by the end of your education here at the Garrison, you will sharpen all parts of you into something truly great.

"Some of you will be chosen by either me or my fellow Paladins to train one-on-one as our successors.

"Most of you will not.

"Some will be chosen to protect the five Lion statues scattered across the city.

"Most of you will not.

"But regardless of where you find yourselves six years from now, each of you have bravery, versatility, leadership, reliability, and wit within you, and I look forward to seeing what you do with it."

Alfor stretched his arms wide, and four others joined him onstage. 

Each of the Paladins of Voltron in one place, with each of their chosen successors behind them.

"Welcome," said Alfor, "to the Galaxy Garrison."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2-2-4 // 1-2-9 // 1-1-9 // 2-1-2 // 1-2-3 // 2-3-16
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en) (Updates only.)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	2. Of Comets and Stars and Those Which are Crossed

"Knock-knock."

Keith looked up from the knees he'd been glaring at for the past half hour to find Shiro watching him from his bedroom doorway.

"Saw you were late," said Shiro. "Actually... I think the whole school saw."

Keith crossed his arms. "Sorry."

"How did you even get in?" asked Shiro.

"Climbed over the gate."

"How?"

Keith shrugged.

"Guess I'm just scrappy."

"Okay..." Shiro made his way to the edge of Keith's bed. "I guess that answers that question. How about another?" He sat down, wrinkling the blankets at Keith's feet. "Why were you late?"

"Some asshole--!"

"Language."

"Some... _jerk_ ran into me and spilled coffee on my clothes!"

Shiro frowned, surprised. "Did they apologize?"

"Yeah," grumbled Keith. "Barely... And apologizing doesn't take the stains out."

Shiro set a hand on Keith's leg. "I'm sorry that happened to you. But next time, maybe try not to slam doors. You really don't want too many eyes on you."

Shiro ruffled Keith's hair.

"Change out of your stained clothes," said Shiro. "Adam and I are going to dinner, and we want you to come with us."

Keith clenched his hands into fists in the curves of his elbows. "Are you sure? I don't think Adam likes--"

"Positive," said Shiro. "Besides, you've had a pretty terrible day so far. I want to make sure the first day of the school year isn't completely terrible for you."

A knot untied in the pit of Keith's stomach. He smiled.

Shiro was a pretty great guy.

* * *

"All right, back to good ol' Room 32E." Lance grabbed his keys from his pocket and pressed them into the lock. "Wonder if my roommate's actually gonna be here this time. Back from wherever he was this...morning..."

The door swung open at the barest provocation.

Lance froze in the doorway.

Hunk froze with his hand halfway to his mouth, his chip having not quite finished its journey.

"What..." Lance gasped and pointed a finger at his surprise encounter. "What are you _doing here?!_ "

"What are _you_ doing here?!" countered Hunk through a full mouth. "This is _my room!_ "

"This is _my_ room!" cried Lance. " _You_ have a _dorm?!_ I thought you'd live at home like the Shiroganes!"

"Staying in a dorm is part of the experience!"

"But-- Wait-- Holy quiznak! Are you my roommate?!"

"I think so?!"

"AAAH!"

"AAAAH!"

"AAAAAH!"

Lance launched himself across the room and tackled Hunk hard enough to tip his chair over, sending them both sprawling to the floor, laughing loud enough that their dorm supervisor appeared at their door.

But even as he revved up for a lecture, Lance couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Hunk.

Hunk was his roommate.

_There's no way that's not destiny._

"Is something funny, Mr. McClain?"

Lance just grinned wider. "No, no, I'm listening! Carry on!"

Hunk shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous.

Lance nudged his shoulder with his own.

Hunk smiled weakly.

_Oh, yeah. Totally destiny._

* * *

It was to Keith's utter despair that the first class on his schedule was algebra. He wanted to roll his eyes the first time he saw it. All that fuss about the Garrison teaching him how to control fire with the sound of his voice, and he was starting off with a stupid math class.

"Quintessence control is important," Shiro had told him, "but so are taxes. You still need basic skills, Keith."

And Keith trusted him. But that didn't mean he was looking forward to falling asleep in math classes when he could have been setting his teacher's shoes on fire instead.

Which was tempting him more and more with each syllable of that grating smoker's voice that reached his ears.

"Every year, you kids come barging down the halls like you own the place, and every year, I have to sit your butts down and teach you something actually important. But no. All you want to do is make cyclones with your hands--"

Keith pressed his cheek into his hand, as frustrated as he was bored. 

The guy hadn't even taught them anything yet. He was just complaining. If Keith had to be stuck in a math class in a school that taught magic, the least the teacher could do was actually teach math. What did he have to complain about in the first place, anyway? School hadn't even been in session long enough for students to get on someone's nerves.

In the corner of Keith's eye, the handle of the classroom door twisted.

Keith stared, distracted by the movement of the slowly-opening door.

A hand wiggled through the crack in the door, followed by an arm, and...

_Oh._

Keith's nose wrinkled.

_Him. Great._

Of course it was him. The same boy from before. The one who'd spilled coffee on him.

All sharp features and pointy elbows, skinny limbs and clownish expressions.

Keith rolled his eyes. Sure, he'd been late for orientation himself, but at least that was only one time. At least he didn't need to cling to the wall like maybe if he became two-dimensional, no one would notice him.

"--and it only gets worse," said the teacher, his voice rising, "when snot-nosed punks try to crawl in late without getting noticed!"

The teacher whipped around and snapped his fingers twice, conjuring a gust of wind that pushed the scrawny kid on his ass. Harmlessly.

Didn't stop Scrawny from screaming on his way down, though. 

"You!" said the teacher.

"I-- Waaauh-- Me?" Scrawny jumped to his feet. "I-- My dog! Ate my homework!"

The classroom dissolved into giggles. Even Keith felt himself smirk. 

The teacher, however, was less amused. He curled his lip, revealing several rows of sharp, crooked teeth.

"The first day of classes just started, and you presumably slept in a dorm last night. No homework, no dogs. _You're just late._ What's your name?"

Scrawny ducked his head. "...nss m'glane..."

"What was that?"

Scrawny sucked in a shaky breath and brought his head up. "Lance McClain, sir..."

"All right, Lance McClain, you're tardy on your first day," said the teacher. "Hope you're proud of yourself. Two more of those and you can find yourself a nice, comfy seat in detention. Until then, you're stuck here. Now siddown. There's an open seat next to the Shirogane kid."

Keith flinched.

_The Shirogane kid..._

Was that who he was now?

"Shirogane...?" McClain's eyes scanned the classroom until he found the only open seat, and Keith right beside it. His eyes flew open. "Him?!"

Keith sneered. _Yeah. Hi._

"You got a problem?" asked the teacher.

"No!" assured Lance, hands held out in front of his chest like a shield. "No, I--"

"Then stop disrupting my class and sit down."

McClain yelped through tightly-clamped lips and held onto his guitar strap for dear life. With white knuckles and a ramrod-stiff spine, he crossed the classroom and lowered himself into his seat, uncomfortably close.

"Good," snapped the teacher. "Now where was I...? Right." He turned around and grabbed a long stylus off the tray in front of the orange screen behind him. "My name," he said, writing on the screen, his handwriting appearing in pixelated lines above him, "is Mr. Cleare. You will not call me by my first name. I am not your friend. I am here to teach you the one thing in this school that will be helpful to you no matter what you do with your miserable lives--"

McClain's elbow connected with Keith's arm.

Keith leaned away.

So did McClain, a pitiful grimace on his face.

"'Shirogane...'" he murmured. "I can't believe this..."

"It's _Kogane,_ " spat Keith. "The Shiroganes just took me in. I didn't take their name."

"Why are you so _offended_ by that?" whispered McClain, eyes trained on Mr. Cleare, though his attention was clearly far from anything their instructor said.

"I'm not offended by _that,_ " hissed Keith. "I'm offended by _you._ "

"For _what?!_ " hissed McClain. "The _coffee?!_ You're still mad about _that?!_ I apologized!"

"You stained the only nice shirt I have!" snapped Keith, voice rising. 

"What am I supposed to do about it now?!" demanded Lance, volume matching Keith's. "You shouldn't have been drinking coffee in such a crowded place with nice clothes on anyway!"

"Are you blaming _me?_ "

"Yeah! I am! And you know what? You can take that coffee and shove it in the same place you keep that stick! Up your--"

" _All right!_ "

It was only when Mr. Cleare whipped around that Keith realized just how loud they'd gotten.

"I have to say, this is the fastest I've ever given a student detention--" 

"Detention?!" squawked Lance. "It's a first offense!"

"No," said Mr. Cleare. "Walking in late was your first offense. Talking in class was your second. Yelling in class was your third. So sit down, shut up, and see me after class. And Shirogane, wipe that smirk off your face. Your butt's in detention, too."

" _What?_ " Keith's mouth fell open. "I wasn't late!"

"No," said Mr. Cleare. "But you were the one who escalated that fight. I have ears, kid. I'm not afraid to use them."

Mr. Cleare turned back to the screen at the front of the classroom.

Lance hung his head.

Keith crossed his arms and leaned into the back of his chair. If Mr. and Mrs. Shirogane found out he got detention on his first day... If _Shiro_ found out...

_Shit..._

_Shit._

* * *

By some blessed miracle, Lance's second class was devoid of all Koganes. And, even better, it wasn't taught by Mr. Cleare.

Instead, the woman at the front of the class was an old Olkari with a wise, gentle smile, a welcome relief from the previous class.

"Welcome to Altean history," she greeted gently. "My name is Ryner. Just Ryner, if you don't mind. There's no need to refer to me by my surname."

Lance nodded, already impressed. That was two points she had on Mr. Cleare in the first few minutes, the other being, well, that she wasn't Mr. Cleare.

"Now, I realize most of your other classes will only have you collect a syllabus today, but I would like to begin with--"

A series of premature groans rolled across the classroom, Lance's among them.

Ryner simply smiled, waiting for their silence to return. Only once she had it did she continue.

"I would like to teach you a bit about this school, and the five Paladins of Voltron."

Lance's chair squeaked beneath him as he leaned forward.

Okay... Consider his interest piqued.

"This school was founded ten-thousand years ago, in times so ancient no one remembers the founders' names. They are simply known, collectively, as the Paladins of Old."

Ryner waved her hand over the screen behind her, and as she gestured, five evenly-spaced circles appeared beneath her hand.

"Along with the five Paladins of Voltron," said Ryner, "were the five Black Knights of Sincline."

She gestured over the five circles already present, and in the spaces between those circles, five more, each in a deep violet, filled the gaps.

"According to legend, an ancient comet once fell from the stars and landed in the fields between Altea and Daibazaal. A great war broke out between the ancient Galra and the Alteans, a war over the comet's ore, a war that is said to have lasted millennia, until one day, in the midst of battle, the comet was broken into two even halves." 

"That's a good thing, though, right?" A boy in the front of the class, one who looked younger than the rest, raised his hand, but didn't wait to be called. "If the comet was broken in half, then Altea and Daibazaal could just split the ore. No more fighting."

"Yes," said Ryner. "They should have. And, eventually, that is what they would decide to do. But this was long before then.

"Now, is anyone familiar with the myth of the origin of soulmates?"

The same boy held up his hand. And, like before, didn't wait to be called on.

"An ancient culture once believed that man was originally created with two heads, four arms, and four legs," said the boy. "But they were so powerful that even gods were threatened, so one of them tore the humans apart, forcing the two halves to spend their lives from that point on always searching for their other halves." 

"Precisely," said Ryner. "Someone's well-read."

"But what does that have to do with anything?" asked the boy.

"What do you suppose the five Paladins are? What they were? What they have always been?"

Ryner tapped each of the colored circles on the screen one-by-one, and they all converged into a single multicolored circle that encompassed all the others.

"Soulmates," said Ryner. "Incomplete apart, but together, a unified whole. Together, they are Voltron." She clasped her hands and turned her full body to the class. "The original five Paladins of Voltron, the Paladins of Old, are said to have been a single soul broken into five parts, driven apart by the fury of war.

"Similarly, the Five Dark Knights of Sincline are also said to be soulmates.

"Since that shattering, the war that drove the Paladins of Old apart, it is said that the souls of those Paladins seek each other across time and countless incarnations. What we call Paladins now are merely...guesses. When the current Paladin finds a student with qualities they deem fitting of their Lion, they take that would-be Paladin on as their apprentice. This is why most Paladins in training rarely finish their training and succeed their masters, because a Paladin has to be willing to wonder if their assumption is wrong, to change their minds if they find someone more likely to be the reincarnation of that first ancient Paladin."

"How do we know?" asked the boy in the front row. "I mean, for sure? Do we ever know?"

"In a time of crisis," said Reiner, "the current Paladin will attempt to bond with their Lion totem, and if the connection takes, and their Lion grants them a most ancient instrument--or, in the case of Strain, a blessing on their voice that cannot be broken but by death--then they are who they claim to be. A true Paladin. If not, one of their successors must make the attempt in their stead."

The boy's hand shot back up.

"Yes, Mr. Holt?"

He lowered his hand. "What is a Lion, anyway?"

"What an excellent question," said Ryner. "One that brings us back to the comet. As I said before, Altea and Daibazaal battled for the great comet's ore for millennia, until one day, when their fighting split the comet in two. It also split the comet's heart. In dividing that heart so, the Ancients discovered something they never could have predicted: That the heart of the comet was the soul of the planet."

"What does that mean, exactly?" asked Holt, not bothering to lift his hand this time.

"It means," said Ryner, "that like humans in that ancient myth, the Earth was split in two, between the world of Alteans and the world of the Galra, with all other beings such as humans and Olkari scattered evenly between the worlds. And with Alteans and Galra segregated into their own worlds, chaos gave way to peace, and each side created their own protectors to ensure that peace. The Lions of Voltron for the Alteans, made from ore infused with the souls of the Paladins of Old, and the Sharks of Sincline for the Galra, made from the ancient Dark Knights. ...Yes, Ms. Leifsdottir?"

Shockingly, someone other than Holt lowered their hand.

"We only have one world," observed the stone-faced girl.

"Yes," said Ryner. "And why do you suppose that is?"

The girl, Leifsdottir, didn't answer.

"The world was torn apart," said Ryner. "And, like those ancient humans, it yearned for its other half. And so did its people. You see, tearing the world in two separated not only the warring Galra and Alteans, but families and friends and lovers, including those composed of Galra and Alteans themselves. Galra husbands torn from Altean wives, mixed families torn brother from sister... Soulmates left farther from one another than they have ever been. And each world's yearning for what it could not reach, its mourning for what it lost, was so great that those longing, distant souls instinctively dragged the worlds closer, and the strain that placed on Daibazaal and Altea was so great that these two worlds began to fall apart.

"And so, the ancient Paladins realized that their Altea was not the world of peace they once presumed it to be.

"With their five, mighty Lions and an ancient song of unity, the Paladins of Old formed Voltron, a magnificent ensemble to create the greatest music the world has ever known, and with that music, the greatest power. With that, they dragged Altea across reality and back to Daibazaal, rejoining the two halves of the comet's heart and forming Earth as we know it today."

"So where's the heart now?" asked Holt.

Ryner dragged her hand across the slide, changing the slide to a photo of a green, glittering stone with a clear divide down the middle, cutting it in half like Yin and Yang.

A soft choir of impressed "Ohs" and "Whoas" rolled across the classroom.

"The comet's heart--referred to colloquially as simply the Comet, for what are we if not our hearts--is kept on display on the top floor of Grogory Tower under strict surveillance. After all, we can't have the world splitting in two again."

"Oh, come on!" Lance crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "That's just a pretty rock! Nothing's going to happen if it breaks in half."

"And you have every right to believe that, Mr. McClain," said Ryner, looking Lance in the eye. "Many do. Skepticism is a healthy part of learning. But the legend has worth beyond the literal events as a warning about the dangers of segregation, and even if it didn't..." Ryner smiled. "All parts of the world are connected. You and I are made of the same carbon that makes the table you're seated at, the grass outside our window, and the countless stars we see in the night sky. Connections are everywhere. Within us and the people we all love, whether they're here now or long gone, and even between us and our enemies. If we are all one world, and this ancient legend has hinged this solitary stone as the heart of not only an ancient comet but all of us, well... The potential loss is far too great for me to march to the top of Grogory Tower and tear the stone apart to see for myself, even to prove legend's truth." She nodded pointedly. "And I suggest you do the same."

Lance shrugged. He didn't plan on it anyway.

"I have a question for you, Mr. McClain..." Ryner drew close, weaving between desks. "Is it only the Earth's soulmate you doubt? The Comet? Or soulmates altogether?"

She stopped beside Lance's desk, her smile no less kind, no less warm, despite the goosebumps her smile incited.

"Do you believe you could have a soulmate?"

* * *

Keith pulled his hood over his head, scowling. He hadn't lived with the Shiroganes for very long, but he didn't have to know them well to know the kind of risks Shiro took every day.

At school, he was out. At school, all his teachers knew he was pansexual, knew he was in a relationship with Adam, knew his worth not only as Zarkon's apprentice but as a person.

But at home...

At home, Keith covered his ears with headphones, because he didn't want to hear it.

He didn't want to hear his new guardians tell Shiro he needed to buy new clothes because the clothes he wore reflected poorly on them somehow.

He didn't want to hear them tell Shiro he didn't work hard enough when Keith rarely saw him do anything but work.

He didn't want to hear them tell Shiro that anything that made him happy from his bike to the books he read were things he needed to grow out of.

...He didn't want to hear the casual lies Shiro told when they asked him whether he was bringing a girl home anytime soon.

It was a miracle that word of Adam hadn't gotten back to the Shirogane household yet. With luck, perhaps Shiro would be single by the time it did.

After all, things...seemed to point that direction.

"--and what are you wearing?"

"A hoodie, Adam. It's called a hoodie."

"With slacks. Yook ridiculous."

"I look _cold._ "

Yeah. Keith didn't like listening to them much more than he liked listening to Shiro's parents.

"You could wear a cardigan."

"Then I really _would_ look ridiculous."

He watched them from behind as they walked home, never wandering too close, afraid of being pulled into their quarrel, hoping against hope that if he ever wound up in a relationship one day, it wouldn't turn into whatever he was looking at.

"Do you think they do this when they're making out, too?"

Keith looked through the corner of his eye and smiled.

At least he wasn't alone.

"I'll tell you if I ever even see them kiss."

"I thought they took you with them to dinner last night," murmured Matt.

"Yeah," said Keith. "And they were like this the whole time."

"The whole time?"

"Yup."

"Geez..."

Keith tucked his hands into his pockets. It wasn't that he didn't like Adam, exactly. Adam was nice enough. He was Alfor's apprentice for a reason, he was never rude to strangers, he'd probably defend Shiro's life to the death...

But Shiro's life wasn't all he was, and when Keith looked at Adam and Shiro together, he found himself asking...

_Why?_

"Were they always like this?" asked Keith.

"At each other's throats like vampires, you mean?" asked Matt. "I don't think so..." He stroked his chin. "But it's been so long, I'm not entirely sure I didn't make it up."

Keith hummed thoughtfully, his eyes on Matt...whose eyes were drawn to Shiro like a magnet.

Keith knew it wasn't any of his business. If Shiro called what he had with Adam happiness, that was up to him. But if it were up to Keith... 

Well. It wasn't. So he supposed it didn't matter.

"Whatever." Adam shoved his hands into his pockets as they reached the end of the sidewalk. "See you tomorrow."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "See you, Adam. Love you."

"Mmhmm, love you, too."

Adam broke away from the group and headed down the road, not paying Matt or Keith any mind.

They exchanged a look.

 _See?_ mouthed Keith.

Matt patted him on the shoulder, hushing him gently.

Keith rolled his eyes. Not likely.

"So are you ever going to kiss your boyfriend, or what?"

Matt shot upright, back straightening like a bow with a cut bowstring.

Shiro turned around slowly, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

Matt laughed nervously on Keith's behalf. "He--"

"You're weirdly distant," said Keith. "Just wondering if you're always like that."

"We are when we're in view of my parents' house," said Shiro, patient as ever. Not in the slightest bit angry at Keith's prying.

Keith wondered if he should have been.

Matt cleared his throat. "So, Keith! How was your first day at the Garrison?"

This time, it was Keith's turn to freeze. "I... Uh..."

Shiro smiled. "Someone got detention."

"Wh--!" Keith clutched his backpack straps. "How did you know that already?!"

Shiro chuckled. "Well, when you cause a ruckus in the middle of algebra..."

Keith winced. Made sense. But... "You're not...mad?"

"I, for one, am actually impressed," said Matt.

"Same here," said Shiro. "My parents, however, might not be."

Keith shrank away from Shiro, wishing he could disappear into his backpack.

Shiro just reached down and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry," he said gently. "I'll cover for you. Just try not to make a habit of it. For your own sake. Okay?"

Keith nodded, humbled.

"Okay," said Shiro.

Without a further word, he strode ahead, silently inviting Keith to follow him.

"So, Matt, your little brother started today, too, right? How's he taking it?"

"Like a duck to water. I thought he'd have a problem with the dorms, being so young, but he's a Holt through and through."

Keith lifted his head and looked into the overcast sky.

Perhaps, sometime soon, the clouds would clear.

* * *

Lance looked through his dorm window, feet pulled onto his desk chair, knees to his chest. 

Behind him, on the opposite side of the room, Hunk snored peacefully.

But just beyond the glass, a night full of sparkling stars glimmered, wide awake.

_"Do you believe you could have a soulmate?"_

Lance closed his eyes.

If he wanted to be a Paladin, he had to believe he did. He had to trust that his soul reached out for four souls he hadn't met, and somewhere out there, four other souls reached back.

But that wasn't really what Ryner was asking. It wasn't about being a Paladin, about being able to form Voltron, about a bond with an ancient Lion or its instrument made from the scorched remains of a shooting star.

It was about Lance.

His soul.

Did he believe he had a soulmate out there somewhere? He wasn't sure. But...

He hoped so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2-1-11 // 1-1-7 // 2-3-6 // 1-3-3 // 3-1-7 // 3-2-14 // 2-1-11
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en) (Updates only.)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	3. In the Blink of an Eye

"Oh, man, you're going to be trouble, aren't you?"

"Trouble?" Lance paused in the combing of his hair to gasp melodramatically. "Me?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "How dare you, honestly."

Hunk raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You got detention on the first day. Yeah, I have my doubts."

Lance scoffed and went back to combing his hair, eyes sliding to his reflection in the mirror. "Come on," he said, smirking easily. "It wasn't even my fault."

"But you--"

"Hup-bup-bup!" Lance pressed a finger to Hunk's lips. "Easy. It won't happen again."

"How do you know?" asked Hunk, muffled by Lance's firmly-placed finger.

"Because Kogane and I didn't get assigned detention in the same classroom." Lance dropped his comb on the dresser. "If we were, we'd probably get caught in an infinite detention loop. But we weren't, so it's fine."

"What about the classes you have together?" asked Hunk.

"No problem!" said Lance. "I just have to avoid him! Easy-peasy." 

"Don't you share a table with him in Mr. Cleare's class?"

"Hunk." Lance clapped a hand on Hunk's shoulder. "Buddy. I'll handle it." He stepped back and opened his dorm door. "I mean, who do you think I am? Some kind of delinquent? I'm not going to get detention again."

Hunk looked into his eyes, worry etched into his every feature. "You promise?"

Lance patted his arm. "I promise."

* * *

"Dude! What the hell?!"

"What do you mean, 'What the hell?!' I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't do anything?!" McClain gestured to the sleeve of his hoodie with the whole of his body. "Does this look like _nothing_ to you?!"

"It's just ash," growled Keith. "It'll wash out. Unlike something _else_ I could mention. Get over yourself."

"Get over myself?!" McClain's mouth fell open, and he pointed aggressively at Keith's chest. " _You_ get over _yourself!_ You did that on purpose! And you better cut it out before I give you a second black eye to match the one you already got! Where did you even _get_ that, anyway? Do you make a habit out of making people want to kick your ass?"

Keith leaned in until he was in Lance's face, close enough to stare him down so he could feel it in his very soul. "Is that a threat, McClain?"

"What is going on over here?!"

The towering figure of Ms. Hira, the Phys. Ed. coach, loomed over Keith, casting a shadow long enough to touch the ends of the earth.

Keith glared at McClain.

McClain glared back.

"He--!"

"He started it!"

Hira curled her lip. "All right, I've heard enough. Detention. Both of you."

* * *

It was a pleasant, spring day, and Mrs. Luxia had decided to host her class outside, in the field surrounded by the running track, where Kogane just so happened to be running.

He scowled at Lance as he drew near, running past the patch of grass where his Strum class had set up.

Lance quietly plucked a series of notes on the guitar lying across his lap.

The patch of ice Lance spread under Kogane's feet sent him flying.

He yelped.

Lance grinned.

"That's a detention, Mr. McClain!"

Lance flinched and turned slowly to face his teacher.

Luxia's eyes narrowed on him, stoic, but disapproving.

Lance was only halfway into shrinking under her gaze when the hair on his left arm caught fire.

"AAAH!"

"And one for you, Mr. Kogane!" snapped Luxia, shouting over Lance's screams. "Don't think you escaped just because you aren't in my class!"

A fellow classmate, Plaxum, strummed an off-key chord with her mandolin, and Lance was drenched with water, leaving him looking like a wet cat as he glared at Keith across the field.

* * *

Keith kicked McClain's chair out from under him as he sat down.

McClain squawked as he hit the floor, but just as quickly as he fell, he recovered, and he jumped to his feet to grab the lapels of Keith's jacket.

"Detention!" snapped Mr. Cleare without turning around.

* * *

Lance tripped Keith.

Keith, from the floor, grabbed Lance's ankle and yanked it out from under him, sending him tumbling onto his back.

"Detention!" snapped Lubos.

* * *

Lance handed in an alchemy test scorched around the edges.

Dr. Holt shook his head disapprovingly, an easygoing smile on his face.

"Detention, Keith..."

* * *

Keith handed in a water-warped history essay.

"That's a detention, Mr. McClain."

* * *

"You two! Detention!"

* * *

"Detention!"

* * *

"DETENTION!"

* * *

Keith grabbed McClain by the front of his shirt and yanked him onto the lip of the fountain.

McClain reached for the guitar on his back faster than Keith could react.

By the time Keith registered the sound of music and rushing water and ice breaking like glass, the shadow of McClain's wave already blocked out the sun.

Keith pushed McClain into the rising water.

McClain lost control, and the wave hit Keith like a train, pulling him into the basin.

"SH--!"

_SPLASH_

For a split second, the world seemed to go silent.

Then Keith emerged from the still-swishing water, coughing up what of it had gotten into his lungs. He swept its stinging presence from his eyes, and by the time he opened them, another shadow loomed over him.

A large, armored, one.

One that belonged to none of his teachers, but looked no less familiar.

Keith shrank under his stern, violet gaze.

_Uh-oh..._

Zarkon turned his gold-and-crimson eyes from him to McClain, who, for his part, shrank just as humbly as Keith had.

"Keith Kogane..." Zarkon looked back. "I would have expected better from my apprentice's own protégé."

Keith swallowed.

"And you..."

Zarkon's eyes slid back across the fountain and landed on McClain.

"Who are you?"

McClain flinched. "Um... It's... It's Lance McClain, sir..."

"Keith Kogane and Lance McClain..." Emperor Zarkon, leader of the Galra, Black Paladin of Voltron, looked from McClain to Keith and back again.

He gave a single, sharp nod.

"Detention," he said simply, and with a whirl of his cape, he turned away and marched off.

Keith warily met McClain's eye.

McClain looked back, contempt in his own, and splashed Keith irritably with icy fountain water before standing up and walking away, leaving Keith cold and wet and alone in the basin of the fountain, skin crawling for reasons beyond the winter air.

* * *

Shiro lied on the semi-circular couch of the Paladin lounge, arm draped over his eyes. Matt, from where he sat by Shiro's tucked-close feet, patted his leg. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"I'm running out of excuses," muttered Shiro. "If I knew this was going to be a...thing...with Keith, I would have just told my parents he joined a club..."

"He does seem to run on a schedule," admitted Matt.

"You shouldn't be shielding him in the first place," said Adam sternly, standing somewhere to Shiro's left. "Maybe if he had to deal with the consequences once in a while, he wouldn't pick so many fights."

"It could be worse," said Allura, gentle, but mostly unhelpful. "Imagine if his clashes with James Griffin were as frequent as his clashes with Lance McClain."

Shiro winced, imagining the bloodbath.

"He'd be expelled by now," said Shiro. "Or dead."

"See?" said Matt, cheerfully. "It could be a lot worse! At least Lance McClain doesn't try to bash Keith's head in! He just...gets him wet, sometimes."

A snort came from somewhere behind the couch.

"Not like that, Aonani," said Matt, amusement in his voice.

"They're _children,_ " snapped Adam.

"I know, I know, you're right, it's just..." Aonani giggled. "It's in the way you said it. Carry on."

Matt grabbed Shiro's arm and tugged, pulling it from his eyes and leaving him at the mercy of the fluorescent lights.

Shiro looked up at his long-time friend's smiling face, always a welcome comfort, even in times of stress. He always seemed to make things feel...smaller.

"It's going to be okay," said Matt. "You'll be okay. He'll be okay. It's going to be fine."

" _Zarkon_ caught him this time," said Shiro.

"He sure did," said Matt. "But it's not a big deal. He's not gunning for _your_ job, anyway. He's trying to take _Adam's_. Who cares what _Zarkon_ thinks? Now, if it was Alfor, that'd be a problem. But it's not. So...it's not."

Matt stood from the couch and pulled Shiro to his feet.

"Keith doesn't need you to stand up to your parents," he assured Shiro. "More than anything, he just needs your support. Be there for him when he messes up. I bet he wouldn't ask for anything else." 

"You say that now," said Shiro, lowering his voice so only Matt could hear him. "But if they kick Keith out of the house..."

"They wouldn't do that," whispered Matt. "Would they?"

"I don't know," said Shiro. "But I can't risk it. It took too much to convince them to go through with the adoption to begin with. If they knew the kind of trouble he got into..." Shiro shook his head. "I don't want my little brother on the streets."

Matt's eyes, far from softening with understanding, darkened with grim worry.

"Shiro..."

His hands slid from Shiro's wrists to his palms.

"Are you... Is everything okay with--"

The lounge door clicked as it was pushed gently open, distracting Shiro and, thankfully, Matt from their conversation.

Keith crept in, looking smaller than ever, his head hanging low.

Shiro made his way to the door, crossing the distance Keith seemed too scared to cross.

"Hey," he said gently. "Zarkon told me what happened."

Keith ducked his head into his shoulders.

Shiro patted his still-wet hair.

"Come on. Let's go home before you get sick."

* * *

Lance hit his bed face-first with a soft whump.

"Seriously, dude. I'm starting to get disillusioned with you."

Lance rolled onto his back and found Hunk frowning at him from his desk.

"That's a good thing," said Lance. "If that's how I'm getting you out of your shell, it's worth it."

Hunk groaned. "At least change clothes, man... You don't want to get your blankets wet."

Lance grumbled, conceding Hunk's point, and climbed to his feet.

"I can't believe you're still doing this," sighed Hunk, sympathy with a dash of salt. "I mean, is this even about the coffee anymore?"

"No," mumbled Lance, dropping his wet shirt on the floor.

"Pride?" asked Hunk.

"No," said Lance.

"Then what?" Hunk spun around in his desk chair. "Dude, you should be worrying about finals right now. Not a year of beef with some guy when you don't even know why you have beef with him anymore."

"I know why I have beef with him!" snapped Lance. "I have beef with him because he's a massive jerk with a mullet and he hates me!"

Hunk rolled his eyes. "I don't think Keith hates you."

"Oh, sure!" Lance barked a laugh. "That's totally why he's always starting stuff with me."

"I'm serious," said Hunk. "I mean, I think he thinks you're annoying. But being annoyed and hating someone are two different things. You know who I think Keith actually hates?"

"More than me?" Lance grabbed a dry shirt out of his wardrobe.

"James Griffin," said Hunk.

"Oh, that doesn't count," said Lance. "Everyone hates James Griffin. He's a pompous, entitled creep who thinks the world owes him fame and fortune. The only people who put up with him are his weird crew of high-class elites. I'm talking actual personal stuff."

"I dunno," said Hunk. "That cut lip Keith walked around with back in October looked pretty personal."

"How do you know that was from Griffin?" asked Lance.

"Uh, everyone knows?" said Hunk. "How did you miss that rumor? It was about your obsession."

"I'm not _obsessed_ with Keith Kogane," grumbled Lance, grabbing a pair of pyjama pants.

"Then what would you call it?" asked Hunk.

"A rivalry!" said Lance.

"Rivalry," grumbled Hunk. "Yeah. Sure. What was that thing you told me when we met? Something about how we have different quintessence goals, so I wasn't an obstacle for you?"

Lance, comfortably changed into dry clothes, strode across the room and draped his arms over Hunk's shoulders from behind his chair. "It's different," he grumbled.

Hunk reached up as Lance set his chin on the top of his head and gave Lance a pat. "Whatever you say, buddy."

"Mm." Lance pressed his face into Hunk's shoulder, hiding it with his own arm. "...Hunk?"

"Yeah?"

"Do the Paladins...know who you are?"

"Sure," grumbled Hunk. "I'm a Garrett, remember? I've got generations of stupid expectations heaped on me, and if I don't wind up Gyrgan's apprentice for at least a little while, all of Altea's going to start asking what's wrong with me." Hunk shuddered.

"Right..."

"Why?"

Lance closed his eyes. "...Just wondering."

* * *

Yelling.

Keith hated the yelling.

He hated the way it permeated the walls and the floors and the ears and his skin.

He hated the way it made his stomach flip, the way it made goosebumps crawl across his arms and up his back.

He hated the way he knew it was all his fault, always his fault, though it was never directed at him.

The yelling always passed, quickly, without ever once even being pointed at Keith's bedroom, but...the dread always remained. Clawing through his mind, ripping through his psyche, chilling Keith to the bone. Even in the silence.

But in silence, things could pass. Keith could put himself back together.

And as soon as he did, he stood from his bed, slinked down the hallway, and knocked quietly on Shiro's door.

"Come in," called Shiro, barely audible through the door, intentionally quiet.

Warily, Keith crept inside, and the light from the hallway fell across Shiro's blue-backlit silhouette before the computer at his desk, revealing a soft smile.

"I thought it was you," he greeted warmly, lowering his headphones. "How are you feeling?"

Keith shrugged, wondering why Shiro bothered asking him that question when he was the one who had taken the brunt of his parents' anger.

"Sit down," said Shiro, gesturing to his bed.

Keith carried his lead-like feet across and lowered himself onto the blankets.

Shiro drummed his fingers on his desk rhythmically, and a gentle breeze closed his bedroom door with nary a sound.

Keith laid his hands on his knees. That came so easy to Shiro. Everything always did. Even his smile after all that yelling seemed easy.

"What's up?" asked Shiro, his face illuminated by his computer screen like a half-moon reflecting the sun.

Keith felt more like an asteroid flung wildly through empty space. 

"I'm sorry," said Keith. "You're always sticking up for me. You shouldn't have to do that."

"...What?" Shiro furrowed his brow. "Did Adam say something to you?"

"Why?" asked Keith. "Did he say something to _you?_ "

Shiro held his breath.

Then let it out in a sigh.

"Keith--"

"You've already done too much for me." Keith curled his hands into fists. "If I'm too much of a hassle, maybe you should stop trying to protect me. Maybe you should just let whatever's supposed to happen happen."

Shiro didn't say a word. His expression may have said something, but Keith was glaring at his hands, hands white-knuckled and digging into his palms, and he couldn't see anything else.

Shiro's chair squeaked as he stood from it, and Keith still didn't look up.

Shiro sat beside him on the bed, and his eyes stayed trained on his hands.

But then Shiro hugged him, and the force of it yanked Keith's attention to the ceiling.

"You have nothing to worry about," whispered Shiro, reaching up to cradle the back of Keith's head. "Because no matter what you say, or what you do, I'm always going to protect you. Whether you like it or not, and whether _Adam_ likes it or not. You're a part of my world now. And I plan on keeping things that way for as long as I can, no matter what the consequences are."

Keith closed his eyes and hid his face in Shiro's broad shoulder. "You can't protect me forever..."

"I can try," said Shiro easily. "And I will. I'm going to try as hard as I can. Because there's so much greatness within you. And I'm looking forward to the day you take every opportunity your luck affords you and all the hard work I know you're capable of and turning it all into something amazing."

"But if I get you in trouble--"

"It doesn't matter." Shiro pushed Keith back and held his shoulders with a firm, inescapable grip, his sharp gaze just as impossible to evade. "I'm not giving up on you. Okay?"

Keith bit his lip. It wasn't okay. None of it was okay. Dragging Shiro into his life, his problems, his hell was never going to be okay. But something still possessed him to nod.

"Good," said Shiro. "Just...do me a favor?" He tousled Keith's hair, a warm smile on his face. "Start choosing your battles, okay? I know there are some you can't avoid, but the thing with Lance McClain..."

Part of Keith wanted to cry out "He started it!" but he held that part of himself back. Shiro was right. McClain got on his nerves, but...he wasn't dangerous. Maybe if Keith just ignored him...

"Okay."

Shiro's smile brightened, and he pulled Keith back into his arms. 

"Okay."

* * *

Lance glared at his bedroom ceiling through the dark.

_"I don't think Keith hates you."_

He clenched his teeth.

_"I think he thinks you're annoying."_

He yanked his pillow out from under his head and shoved it into his face.

_"You know who I think he actually hates?"_

He wanted to scream. He didn't want to wake Hunk, but god, he wanted to scream.

_"James Griffin."_

With all his might, Lance threw his pillow into the wall beside his bed. It bounced off hard, forcing Lance to lean over the corner of his mattress to pick it up off the floor.

_Why the hell does that bother me so much?_

Hunk giggled at something in his sleep and rolled over, bed squeaking beneath him.

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Shut up, man..."

* * *

"--and like all things, the most important part is balance. Think of the whole equation as a scale, and the equals sign as the middle point between the two values--"

Keith felt McClain's eyes on him. The same place they had been throughout the entire class. He was just...staring. It was really starting to get on his nerves.

But Keith told Shiro he'd be better. And for Shiro's sake, he would be. 

"--So keep that in mind when you do your homework, and maybe I'll actually see some passing grades when finals hit. Class dismissed."

Keith stood from his chair, only to have McClain catch his arm.

Keith looked at him, eyebrow purposefully raised.

McClain looked back, brow furrowed. "What the heck is up with you today? I mean, you've always been weird, but you are extra-weird right now."

Keith barely had seconds to mull over an excuse before one came spilling out of his mouth.

"Sorry. I don't know who you are."

McClain's eyes widened. His mouth fell open.

Keith yanked his arm out of McClain's grip before he could come up with a rebuttal.

That...was a really dumb excuse, but at least being dumb had the added bonus of taking McClain off guard.

Keith grabbed his backpack off the back of his chair and yanked it over his shoulder. He had a vocal training class to get to.

* * *

"--history final will be covering the Paladins of the last century, the kings from the 56th century to now, and the great war of--"

_"Sorry. I don't know who you are."_

"--make sure you remember your instruments! This will be a practical--"

_"Sorry. I don't know who you are."_

"--annual formal announcement of the Paladin apprentices for the next year--"

_"Sorry. I don't know who you are."_

Lance kicked the base of the fountain. He kicked it until his toes hurt, until his shoes felt like rubber, until at least some of the tension in Lance's shoulders began to give.

"Stupid Kogane..."

_"Sorry. I don't know who you are."_

" _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ "

Lance punctuated every word with another sharp kick.

Kogane knew damn well who Lance was. He probably knew how mad it would make Lance for him to pretend he didn't, too. Even if Lance himself didn't understand why.

"Dude. What are you doing?"

Lance looked over his shoulder.

Hunk stood behind him, one hand on his duffel bag strap.

Lance took a sharp, angry seat on the edge of the basin. "Kogane's a jerk."

Hunk sighed emphatically. "I'm sure I should be surprised, but man, I am really, really not. So when do you have detention this time?" 

Lance crossed his arms. "...I don't."

Hunk raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now I really am surprised. How did you manage that?"

Lance wrinkled his nose.

"Okay, fine," grumbled Hunk. "Don't tell me. We don't have time, anyway." He caught Lance by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I really, really don't want to be late for another big ceremony."

Lance rolled his eyes. "At least you wouldn't have to push me over a wall this time."

"I can't believe that's the one thing you haven't gotten in trouble for this whole year," said Hunk.

"We," corrected Lance. "The only thing _we_ haven't gotten in trouble for. That's on you, too. You're not that innocent."

"It was your idea, though!"

"Yeah, and you went along with it."

Hunk sighed, a good-natured smile on his face, one that steadied Lance's heart. "Yeah, fine, okay... Still, though, sneaking onto campus is kind of a big deal. I mean, if you sneak off, you get in trouble because the school doesn't want angry parents. If you sneak in, you get in trouble because the school doesn't want the world to end."

"Uhh..." Lance drew his eyebrows together. "What the cheese are you talking about?"

"The comet?" pressed Hunk. "The thing that breaks the world in half if you break it in half? Kind of a big deal, Lance."

"Ohh, that..." Lance groaned and headed for the auditorium doors. "You actually believe that? You? Smartest-guy-I-know Tsuyoshi 'Hunk' Garrett believes in stupid doomsday prophecies? Look, if a rock could destroy life as we know it, I think there'd be a little more security on it."

"There's security!"

"Yeah, cool-historical-artifact security, museum security, not nuclear-code security!" Lance poked Hunk in the side. "If some random, racist kid could bust into Grogory Tower, tag the walls, and literally destroy life as we know it for the sake of segregating Alteans from the Galra, I think there'd be more than just cameras and a couple of night guards, don't you? I mean, I know you've got anxiety, but this is one thing I'm pretty sure you don't actually have to worry about."

Hunk winced. "Okay, yeah, but like, what if you're wrong? What if Griffin breaks in one night and decides he doesn't want to deal with the Galra anymore? What if we wind up on different worlds and I never see you again?"

Lance's footsteps faltered. "...You're worried about _that?_ "

" _Yes!_ " said Hunk. "If I'm separated from you and my mom and dad and my sister, like, what else do I have? I don't want to go through the rest of my life alone! I--"

"Easy, easy..." Lance wrapped an arm around Hunk's shoulders and pulled him into a half hug. "Like I said, nothing's going to happen. But even if it did, Hunk, we're, like, destined to be best friends. I can't even imagine living in a world without you in it. You're stuck with me. Okay?"

Hunk worried his lip between his teeth. "Even if Gyrgan never picks me as his apprentice?"

"Dude." Lance thumped Hunk's chest. "No duh."

Hunk gave him a watery smile.

"Besides," said Lance, "you're, like, the most supportive, caring guy I know. Even when you're trying to knock sense into me. Gyrgan's gonna pick you. I wouldn't be surprised if he picked you this year and you don't have to take classes when we get back from winter break." 

"I'll still be taking classes," said Hunk. "They'll just be, you know, Yellow Paladin classes."

"Which will be so much cooler than normal classes!" said Lance. 

Hunk looked into Lance's eyes, swallowed so hard Lance could see his Adam's apple move, and yanked him into a hug so tight it pulled Lance's feet off the floor.

Lance laughed, surprised, and waited for Hunk to set him back down and free his arms so he could properly hug back.

Hunk would be Gyrgan's successor. Lance had no doubt in his mind. Not just his apprentice for a few years, but the whole Yellow Paladin shebang. And Lance would follow Blaytz as Blue Paladin. And maybe then...

Maybe then, people would take him seriously.

Maybe then, people would know his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3-2-4 // 1-3-5 // 2-1-1 // 1-2-4 // 3-2-6
> 
> 3-1-7 // 2-4-9 // 3-2-4 // 3-6-4 // 1-3-4 // 2-2-4 // 2-1-11 // 3-2-4
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en) (Updates only.)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	4. A Melody, a Memory

The auditorium was just the way it had been on Lance's first day, save for the fact that the assembly hadn't started yet. It was packed, noisy, and set up for a show.

Hunk led him to a seat on the top row, and Lance dropped into it, leaning against the wall behind him.

"So, you're obviously going to be the next Yellow Apprentice. Who else do you think will be up there? Shiro, Matt, Adam, and Allura, same as last time? Or someone else?"

"I don't know," admitted Hunk. "As long as it's not Griffin, I don't really care."

"What if it's one of his goons?" asked Lance.

Hunk shrugged. "Kinkade's in some of my classes, and he doesn't seem too bad. Just, you know, quiet. I don't think he's hiding any diabolical schemes behind those eyes. He's probably just thinking about pad thai. That's what I'd be thinking about."

"Focus, buddy," said Lance. "Kinkade's not going to be your teammate anyway. He uses Base magic, just like you. He might be your Lion's protector, but..."

"Eh, guess you're right," said Hunk. "Maybe Rizavi wouldn't be so bad. But, I mean, I don't have to worry about who's going to be Blue Paladin."

He elbowed Lance, and Lance grinned. "What about Leifsdottir?"

Hunk pulled a face. "I dunno, Leifsdottir's kind of..."

"Weird?"

"Anti-Galra."

"Oh." Lance winced. He didn't know that about her.

"Matt Holt has a little brother, anyway," said Hunk. "From what I've heard, Darrell Holt takes after Matt a lot, so he'll probably make Apprentice someday."

"Oh, yeah, that little guy's in my history class," said Lance. "He doesn't talk much, though. I don't know how well he'd work on a team."

"Still," said Hunk. "Paladins tend to go in families. Everyone in my family's been a Yellow Apprentice, right? And every Shirogane's been Black... Allura's not Red, like her dad, but she's still an apprentice. I've even heard Zarkon's kid back in Daibazaal's a Dark Knight. Keith's probably gonna be—"

"Ugh, don't say it." Lance grimaced.

"Why not?" asked Hunk.

"You know why," said Lance.

"Come on, between Keith and James Griffin—"

"I'd obviously pick Kogane," said Lance. "But hopefully it doesn't come to that. Dude, there are so many people it could be. The idea of being forced to bond with Keith-friggin'-Kogane—"

Lance gave a full-body shudder, and as if waiting for that exact cue, the lights close that moment to go out.

The low buzz of conversation faded to a tense silence.

Hunk stiffened.

Lance set a hand on his arm, intending to calm his own present nerves as well as Hunk's, but unable to keep himself from inching forward in his chair.

**THUMP**

**TH-THUMP**

Lance clutched the front of his chest.

That wasn't his heart, but it very well could have been, for as loud as it was.

**THUMP**

**TH-THUMP**

A powerful gust of wind rushed down the aisles of bleachers, strong enough to lift Lance off his chair, and judging by the screams that filled the auditorium, countless others with him.

**THUMP**

**TH-THUMP**

Lance yelped as he was dropped back into his seat, and with a cold shock, he realized the wind had dropped him and the audience around him in sections—left, right, and middle—sending them crashing into their seats on beat and turning their thundering bodies into instruments as they landed, drumsticks on the drums of auditorium seats.

Lance hugged his middle, goosebumps crawling up his arms, a chill that only doubled when an arpeggio joined the beat of the drum and a torrent washed over Lance's body like a sudden wave from a frozen ocean.

The screams around Lance turned to cheers, redoubling into a soaring, deafening roar of excitement, but before Lance himself could get comfortable with that familiar acoustic guitar sound, a voice rang through the auditorium, louder than any cheer, reverberating across the walls as if they made up the insides of a bell.

_"These melodies of ours_

_To soothe your growing fears_

_Uphold our fragile bond_

_And have for many years"_

Lance's eyes widened.

That was We Unyielding Five, an old-fashioned war anthem. He'd always thought it was cheesy, and judging by the little, orange flame that had bloomed over King Alfor's head, so did King Alfor, but...that flame still managed to survive in Zarkon's winds, winds strong enough to lift an entire hall of students off their chairs, so perhaps it wasn't the flame's size that was worth noting.

And besides...Lance had never heard We Unyielding Five quite like this before.

_"Three and two—one and four,_

_A team of Voltron Five,_

_Without fear, nor retreat,_

_We fight to stay alive."_

Alfor's tiny mote of light fluttered high, high overhead, until it reached the ceiling, where it began to grow brighter and brighter, until Lance, for the first time, noticed the vines that had completely consumed the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but the students themselves.

Beside him, Hunk screamed, and Lance whipped around to find a thick vine creeping slowly between them. How long—

How long had that violin been playing? It joined in so seamlessly.

_"With bravery and strength_

_Connections matched by none_

_We'll not give up this fight_

_Our battle's just begun"_

A rush tugged at Lance's clothes. At first, Lance thought the wind whipping around him had grown stronger. It wasn't until he saw the door that should have been behind him whirl past the opposite end of the auditorium that he realized the floor was spinning, carrying the whole of the room with it and sending it into a dizzying spiral.

Hunk made a noise in the back of his throat and doubled over.

Lance's eyes widened. "Whoa— No— No, you don't—"

_"With justice on our side_

_Our fight is all but won—"_

"Hunk, I swear, if you hurl right now—"

_"Our victory's in sight,_

_The world is ours to run"_

Hunk ducked his head between his knees and puked.

Lance yanked his feet off the floor lightning-fast before inertia could make a mess of his shoes. Several students to his right got the memo. Some down the row didn't.

_"These melodies of ours_

_To quell our stirring fears..."_

The spinning slowed to a stop, followed, unfortunately, by the rain that had been washing away Hunk's upheaval.

_"Protect your fragile land..."_

Lance's eyes slid back to the Paladins at the center of the auditorium, each bowing one by one until Alfor was the only performer still standing.

_"...And shall, for many years."_

His light faded, and the overhead lights turned back on, just in time to show the receding of the vines.

"Congratulations on making it to the end of the year!" called Alfor. "And for surviving that torrent. Blaytz..."

"On it!"

Blaytz held up a hand, strummed his guitar with all his might, and sent a ringing, dizzying, dissonant sound echoing from the walls that seemed to yank the water straight out of Lance's clothes and onto the floor.

Lance frantically tried to fix his hair. Okay. That was cool.

"For those of you who have been studying in our school for some time, I hope this year's performance was as delightful as the year before's. As for those of you who hadn't experienced one of our shows until today, I'm sure some among you will be pleased to know there is a separate room where you can watch future performances from a safe, non-nausea-inducing distance."

"Oh, thanks for telling me that now," grumbled Hunk.

Lance reached across to pat his back sympathetically.

"But I'm sure none of you are here to learn about our sickness evasion rooms. So, Zarkon, as per tradition, would you mind starting us off?"

Zarkon, the same towering beast of a Galra that hadn't bothered remembering Lance's name that day at the fountain, walked away from his bass drum and toward the lip of the stage.

He took a deep breath.

His crimson eyes scanned the crowd of students.

He cleared his throat.

He spoke.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean Calendar is, once again, Takashi Shirogane."

Lance rolled his eyes. Of course, all that dramatic buildup just for the least surprising option.

He watched Shiro stand from the front row, Kogane himself watching in a way Lance could recognize as anxious all the way from where he sat.

Shiro ruffled his hair before taking a step forward and proudly joining Zarkon on the stage.

Alfor returned to the edge, taking Zarkon's place.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean Calendar is Adam Whittaker."

Beside Shiro's now-empty seat, his boyfriend climbed to his feet and joined him on the stage.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Matt Holt."

Matt Holt flashed Kogane and his own little brother a grin and a pair of thumbs up before bouncing his way to the stage to take a theatrical bow that had Shiro flicking the back of his head.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Allura del Altea!"

Princess Allura stood from the seat beside where Matt Holt had been and trotted jauntily to the edge of the stage, where Shiro bent down to help her up and Matt greeted her with a high five, which she happily accepted.

"My choice of apprentice for the year 5549 of the Altean calendar is Tsuyoshi 'Hunk' Garrett."

The auditorium, already respectfully silent, couldn't have been quieter. There was no stunned hush, no cease in cheers or curious murmuring. And most likely, that was why Lance didn't quite register what had been said. Not until it hit him he was scanning the crowd below him for the wrong person.

"Hunk—" Lance's voice sounded like a crash of cymbals to his own ears, but when Hunk sat shaking beside him the way he was, nothing mattered but making sure he was okay. "Hunk, buddy, what did I tell you? Why are you even surprised?"

"Lance..." rasped Hunk, his eyes glued to the stage below them.

"Come on, man, we just talked about this—"

"I can't..."

"Sure you can! All you have to do is stand up and walk down the aisle—"

"No, Lance, I can't. Not with all these people— Everyone's staring at me— I _can't—_ "

"Okay, nah. Nope. You're not doing this." Lance jumped to his feet and offered his arm. "Come on. Let's go."

Hunk whipped his head around, tails of his headband flying. "Uh, what do you mean 'let's'?"

" _Let's go._ " Lance patted his arm. "Come on, big guy. Or am I not pretty enough to be your escort?"

Hunk stared, mouth hanging open, tears welling in his eyes. "Lance..."

"Don't get all mushy on me. There’s no time for that." Lance grabbed Hunk by the arm and forcibly linked their elbows, pulling Hunk out of his seat and ignoring the heat gathering in his ears. " _Come on._ "

It was awkward, pulling Hunk out of the seats, but once they reached the aisle, it was smooth sailing. At least, for the most part. He did catch James Griffin, of all bastards, shooting Hunk the death glare of his life.

"You're just jealous," hissed Lance as they passed his row. “You _wish_ you had arm candy like me."

Griffin's eyes flashed with so much rage and what was _definitely_ jealousy that Lance was sure, for an instant, that he'd jump out of his chair and throw a punch. Judging by the death grip on Lance's arm, Hunk seemed to have the same thought. But they reached the stage without incident, and no sooner had they than Gyrgan, the Yellow Paladin himself, bent down and clasped Hunk's arm to pull him up.

Princess Allura bent down as well, taking Hunk's other arm from Lance and helping to pull him up.

Hunk, no less flustered, hit the stage with a nervous whine and turned around, seeking comfort in Lance's face.

Lance grinned, in the hopes that he delivered that comfort.

Matt Holt wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Shiro patted him on the back in a congratulatory gesture.

He was welcomed.

He was accepted.

And Lance found himself all the more excited to one day be up there with him, to be accepted like that, to be a part of something, wanted, remembered, just like Hunk.

A weight landed on Lance's head. Curious, he looked up, and he found Princess Allura still kneeling at the edge of the stage, her hand ruffling his hair, just like what Shiro had done to Kogane.

If Lance had been bashful before, with Hunk, it was nothing compared to the way he felt there, in that moment, Allura's fingers threaded through his hair. He felt his knees go weak, knew he must have had the goofiest smile on his face, but he didn't care.

Allura was beautiful, and she was touching him, and _smiling_ at him, and Lance was content, for the time being, just to be there.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, before standing slowly and turning around to join her fellow apprentices.

Lance watched her walk away before turning on his heel, dazed and dizzy, and came face to face with—

 _Ugh. Kogane._ And he was staring at Lance like he'd grown a second nose. _Great. Thanks for the mood killer, asshat._

"What?" snapped Lance in a whisper.

Kogane rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, readorning the look Lance knew him best for. That constantly-irritated, too-good-for-everyone look.

Lance just shrugged and made his way back up to his seat. He wasn't about to let Kogane ruin his day.

He'd only taken a few steps up the stairs when Alfor took his place back at the edge of the stage.

"Everyone, please rise and welcome your apprentices for the coming year!"

Every student slowly climbed to their feet, clapping on command, and Lance turned around to take another look at the stage.

At Hunk, surrounded by his peers, far above the rest of the student body. Nervous, but still visibly happy.

And, though a little jealous, a little sad knowing he couldn't stand up there with Hunk, Lance still smiled.

_Way to go, pal..._

The remainder of the assembly was less eventful, and a great deal lonelier. Lance kept staring at Hunk on the stage, wishing he was down there with him, that staring only broken by the occasional glance at Kogane, who, Lance had just noticed, had a lot more friends than Lance himself did. At least _he_ was still sitting with Matt's little brother.

Of course he had all those stupid friends. He was Shiro's brother. Shiro probably introduced Kogane to everyone he knew. It wasn't like Kogane would actually be able to make friends like that on his own. Did anyone even _like_ him?

Lance huffed and turned his attention back to Hunk until the assembly ended.

He sighed, relieved, and jumped out of his chair, rushing into the chaotic crowd of students, eager to push his way down to where Hunk was, to talk to him and get away from the loneliness that crawled into Lance's brain.

But he'd barely met the bottom stair when a not-so-friendly voice filled the void that loneliness left behind.

"—don't deserve that spot. You've never done anything to earn it!"

Lance clenched his teeth and pushed his way through with all the more frantic fervor.

Griffin.

"There's only one person in our year who deserves that spot, and it's Kinkade."

"I— I wasn't—"

"Oh, what, are you _crying_ now?"

 _Crying?!_ Lance clenched his teeth and pushed at the dense crowd that had gathered between him and his best friend. No way. No way was some punk like _James Griffin_ going to bully _his Hunk._

"Good. You _should_ be crying. You didn't earn that spot."

"James! Knock it off! Hunk didn't do anything wrong!"

"Come on, Kinkade, you know this is BS. The only reason Garrett got that spot and you didn't, the only reason anyone would get that spot but you, is the family he comes from. That's all it is, just politics and—and classism, and elitism— It's all about keeping all the same families in power! _Look_ at him, Kinkade! Look at how much he's crying! Look how _fat_ he is!"

Lance shoved someone aside, hard enough to send them to the floor, in a desperate attempt to reach Hunk. " _Let me through!_ "

"There's no way," continued Griffin, "no way in hell that someone like him could ever take a spot that belongs to you without some kind of outside force cheating the system. Face it, the only worth that fatass could ever have is the family he—"

**_CRACK_ **

A wave of gasps rolled through the crowd of students, and, distracted by whatever happened, the crowd became malleable enough for Lance to push his way to the front.

The first thing he saw was Griffin, knocked off his feet, blood dripping from his nose, a wide-eyed stare on his face, his friends hovering over him with wide eyes and uncertain hands.

Then he saw Hunk, cowering just a few feet from James, arms over his head, almost certainly not the person who decked him in the face.

Which...only left—

"Say that again, and next time, I'll aim for your teeth."

_Kogane..._

Lance's jaw dropped.

He never thought he'd say it, but in that moment, Kogane didn't look like the creep Lance had come to know.

He looked...like a _badass._

Violet eyes cut sharp into his face, hands curled into fists at his sides, a sharp frown drawing his lips firmly shut, and his stature, not typically intimidating, towering over Griffin like a conquering hero.

Griffin rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

He looked at the blood that came away from his face.

He looked at Kogane.

And he _lunged._

Screams erupted from the students behind Lance, followed immediately by cheers from the other side. Lance's mind whirled as he looked back and forth, his conscience debating with itself, trying to figure out which was the best choice to make, Hunk or Kogane, left or right.

Resolute, Lance darted across the chaos and grabbed Hunk, snapping him out of the statue he'd frozen himself into and taking him out of harm's way.

"Come on, buddy, come on, let's go—"

" _WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?_ "

It was Lance's turn to freeze.

His eyes connected with Hunk's, so wide they seemed ready to fall out of his skin, just for a moment, before he turned around to see Lubos storming his way to the impromptu gladiator arena.

Lance did everything he could to hide Hunk in the crowd, hoping he wouldn't be punished just for being bullied, not on what should have been a great day, but before Lubos could even send a glance Hunk's way, a greater distraction came up.

"What the _hell?!_ " Griffin scarpered back. "He has a knife!"

Gasps rang through the crowd as Kogane slapped at his back, eyes wide.

Lance looked at the point where his hand had darted to, and his mouth fell open.

Sure enough, peeking out from the edge of Kogane's usual red-and-white hoodie—dragged up to nearly his chest during his scrap with Griffin—sat the unmistakable hilt of a hunting knife, wrapped in strips of linen.

"Outrageous!" harrumphed Lubos.

Kogane's pale face snapped up, hand on the knife as he backed away. Lance had never seen him so scared. "No, you don't— You don't understand—"

"Hand it over, young man," snapped Lubos. "It's dangerous, and it's confiscated. You're lucky I haven't had you expelled on the spot."

"No, you can't—!"

Griffin yanked Kogane's knife from his belt, exposing its steely blade to the world, proving how sharp it was by sight alone.

Keith tried to grab it back, but Lubos took it first, disgust in his sneer.

"Give it back," begged Kogane. "Please! My mom gave it to me!"

"Then your mother can come to my office after class to pick it up. And we can have a nice chat about your choices."

Kogane clenched his teeth. His fists shook. For an instant, Lance thought he was going to punch Lubos in his dumb, green face.

But he just choked out a sob, turned around, and ran from the auditorium, doors swinging shut with an audible thud behind him.

Hunk's hand slid around Lance's wrist.

"When he said his mom gave him that," whispered Hunk, "I don't... I don't think he meant Mrs. Shirogane."

Lance found Hunk's gaze for only a moment, just long enough. Long enough for his words to sink in, long enough to understand where Lubos hadn't.

And as Lance's eyes wandered back to the door Kogane had just blasted through, the most bizarre pain struck him in the chest like a bolt of lightning. Sudden, confusing, and hard to ignore.

He actually felt _sympathy_ for _Keith Kogane._

* * *

Keith slammed the bathroom stall door and pounded the wall with the sides of his fists.

Stupid. That was so _stupid._ His knife was gone. That was it. The Shiroganes would never let him get his knife back. They didn't even know about it. Lubos wouldn't let Shiro take it in lieu of his parents, he wouldn't just feel sorry for Keith and hand it back, and— And what was _he_ supposed to do? Sneak in and grab it himself? If he got _caught—!_

...If he got caught, Shiro would take the brunt of the punishment.

Keith was screwed.

With a frustrated roar, he kicked the stall door before locking it shut, throwing the toilet seat's lid down, and sitting on top, furiously scrubbing at the tears running down his cheeks.

He still felt like screaming, but screaming did no good.

So he sobbed.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and if Keith had any dignity left, he probably would have tried to stop crying.

 _If.._.he had any dignity left.

"Um..."

Whoever had come in took a timid step closer to Keith's stall.

"K... K-Keith? Are...you okay?"

Keith pressed his face into his hands. Great. No one talked to him like that, not ever, not unless they were Shiro or Matt. Sometimes Allura. But this wasn't Shiro or any of his friends. This was someone else. One of Keith's classmates, probably. Someone he'd never recognize by voice because all he'd heard of their voice so far was the way they sounded when they were called on in class.

Keith didn't bother answering them. Whoever they were, they'd only come after him because of their twisted conscience. They weren't his friend, and he wasn't their problem. He didn't owe them an answer. He didn't owe them a thing.

"I saw what happened out there," said the person at the door. "That was really cool, what you did. Standing up for Hunk. I...didn't think you were the kind of person who'd do something like that."

Keith sniffed. It wasn't even for Hunk. Griffin just...pissed him off. The implication that Shiro or Matt or Allura got where they were just because of their families. The implication that Shiro was only the Black Apprentice because of his awful parents... And the implication that, if Keith was ever an Apprentice, it'd be because of the family that grudgingly took him in...

Keith didn't want to hear it.

Besides, Hunk was Aonani's little brother. And maybe Aonani wasn't as close to Shiro as the rest of the Apprentices, but she was still his friend. And she was nice to Keith, too. And even if Hunk was McClain's friend, he must have been nicer than McClain if he made Yellow Apprentice. Keith doubted he deserved Griffin's garbage.

"So, like... I just wanted to thank you," said the person at the door. "For what you did for Hunk."

Again, Keith sniffed. He didn't do it to be thanked by someone he didn't even know.

"Er... Yeah." The person at the door cleared their throat. "Uh... Hope you feel better soon."

The door opened, Keith heard retreating footsteps, and the door closed again.

Keith took a shuddering breath and hung his head.

 _Good._ He wiped his eyes. _They're gone._

Then the door flung open again.

"You know what? No."

Keith flinched. _What the...?_

"No-no-no-no-no. No. I'm not leaving until you laugh. Or smile, o-o-or something! Okay?"

Keith blinked, flicking tears away, speechless.

"Okay!" The stranger plucked out a series of notes on what sounded like a guitar, and frost shot across the tile floor. Keith's mouth fell open. That was more prowess than he'd expected. "So this is just a goofy little ditty I came up with in my off time. You want to hear it? Never mind, don't answer that. Not like you were going to answer that anyway, right? Right. So...here goes."

Footsteps plodded across the frozen floor, toward Keith's stall, and stopped just outside his door, revealing a pair of worn, blue tennis shoes just beyond the boundary of the door.

Keith rose to his feet, curious, anxious.

The owner of the blue tennis shoes took a breath, turned around, and strummed his guitar.

_"My ex-girlfriend Kitty_

_Is so very pretty_

_Her hair is as black as the night..."_

Keith's eyebrows shot toward his hairline as his eyes darted to the ceiling, where orange, fiery embers drifted down like rain from an unseen cloud.

Strain and Strum at the same time... It wasn't that uncommon, but it was still impressive, and even if it weren't, the ashes falling like snow into the glassy frost at Keith's feet were still beautiful.

_"Her smile is as warm_

_As the beach at the dawn_

_And no other eyes twinkle so bright..."_

Keith followed a glowing ember all the way down, to the floor, where it landed between the toes of his shoes. And there, like a seed, it sprouted, and a frozen, crystalline vine stretched and spiraled up, stopping in front of Keith’s face, directly across from his lips, as if waiting for a kiss.

_“Her lips are so soft_

_And her hair's neatly coiffed_

_But she's not as sweet as she seems…”_

Instead of kissing Keith, the tip of the vine transformed, twisting into the shape of a rosebud, one that quickly bloomed into a dazzling, glass-like rose that perfectly refracted the light from every drifting ember and knocked the breath from Keith’s lungs as quick as any well-placed punch. That was _gorgeous._ How did they make something like that without even being able to see it?

_“For my ex-girlfriend Kitty_

_Is so very pretty_

_She's stolen the man of my dreams.”_

“ _Ha—!_ ”

Keith clapped a hand over his mouth.

He’d been so entranced by the rose that he’d temporarily forgotten what the stranger said about his song being a _“goofy little ditty”_ until the punchline slapped him in the face.

The song stopped abruptly, guitar and all, and its singer laughed triumphantly. “A- _ha!_ Knew I could get you to laugh!”

Keith slowly lowered the hand from his mouth, eyes falling to the shoes on the other side of the door, which had started shuffling in a triumphant dance.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and wiped what was left of the tears from his eyes. Losing his knife still hurt, and Keith had no doubt it would for a long time, but...it hurt differently, somehow. Less like Keith had insulted his late mother and doomed the planet, and more like he just...lost something with a lot of sentimental value.

“...Thank you.”

The shoes stopped dancing.

“Uh… No problem, man.” The singer cleared his throat. “Just...feel better soon.”

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Good.” Those feet under the door shifted nervously. “So I guess I’ll...uh...see you.”

The blue tennis shoes retreated, and Keith’s gaze lifted back to the rose. With a wary hand, he reached out to touch it, and it shattered like a Prince Rupert’s Drop, sending particles of ice flying in every direction as if Keith had summoned a tiny blizzard.

Its maker stopped at the bathroom door, just long enough to let loose a tiny chuckle at Keith’s expense, then the door creaked shut, and Keith knew he was gone.

A jolt ran through Keith’s heart.

He frantically unlocked the door to the stall, threw it open, and followed the stranger into the school corridors, but by the time Keith opened the bathroom door—

“—catch last night’s episode of—?”

“—spaghetti _all over_ my pants. I’ll never get the stain—”

“—released a new line of—”

“—my gosh, check out the _colors—!_ ”

Students. A _sea_ of students. Countless and moving and shuffling amongst themselves like a deck of cards.

Keith tugged nervously at the sleeves of his hoodie.

Whoever that was, whoever had shown Keith that kindness exactly when he needed it, Keith may never know.

And the very thought of that weighed on his heart.

* * *

Lance yanked Hunk’s arm and spun him around. “Need your hoodie.”

“What?” Hunk furrowed his brow. “My _hoodie?_ What do you need my _hoodie_ for? It won’t _fit_ you. If you put the hood up, no one would even see your face.”

Lance smirked.

“That’s the idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 - 7 - 3 // 4 - 6 - 14 // 4 - 4 - 21 // 4 - 3 - 14 // 4 - 3 - 13 // 4 - 3 - 4
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
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> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	5. Sweet Music Playing in the Dark

In some ways, magic worked like emotions. Like emotion, there was always a little bit of magic in everyone who had it. And, like emotion, music could take what was there, build it up, and turn it into something far greater than it ever could have been on its own. Getting involved in any sort of magical combat without an instrument was a bit like running into a shootout without a gun.

But a bare hand could still throw fists, and a heart could still feel sadness without melodic interference, and Lance could still use ice magic without his guitar.

Sort of.

A little.

Lance pressed his back to the wall and peered down the hallway to his left, then to his right. The rest of the school should have been at dinner, and Lance climbing down from his dorm window should have been enough to throw the school security cameras off his scent, but there was no way to know for sure that he wasn't seconds from getting caught at any point.

He pulled Hunk's big, yellow hoodie over his eyes, hiding his face, and reached in his front pocket for the bottle of water he brought. A trembling breath fanned over his lips, and he lowered himself to his knees outside Lubos' office door. Lance had already committed himself to what he was about to do. He'd already made enough risky plays to take him as far as he'd gone. Still, that didn't make picking the lock on his teacher's door any easier.

Lance uncapped the bottle and poured it into his hand, forming it into a tiny ball.

He pressed his hand to the keyhole, his ear to the door, his courage to the walls of his heart.

_This is for Kogane. He helped Hunk, so now I'm helping him. That's how this works. Right? Right._

"Right..."

Lance closed his eyes. His fingertips drummed out a rhythm as he pictured them dancing up and down the neck of his Pop-Pop's old guitar. Controlled, possessing the air, enchanting the unseen audience.

The water in his hand invaded the lock.

Inside, tumblers slid slowly down, pressed into place by miniature pillars of ice.

**_Click._ **

Barely louder than the near-silence of Lance's miming fingers, the first pillar hit its intended length, and Lance was free to focus on the others.

**_Click._ **

**_Click-click._ **

**_Click._ **

Lance nodded sharply. That was all of them. He could tell.

Keeping his hand steady, focusing every ounce of attention he had on his magic, he pulled back. Sweat gathered on his forehead as the ice extended through the keyhole, chasing his retreating palm.

When he stopped, so did the ice, and with a careful, gentle hand, Lance turned his needle-thin, brittle-as-sugar-glass key.

It snapped.

Lance sucked in a shallow breath. Was that enough?

He tried the doorknob.

It twisted, and one of the knots in his stomach untied itself. But he couldn't breathe. Not yet.

With one last look down the hallway, Lance slipped into Lubos' office and closed the door behind himself.

In utter, chilling silence, Lance's eyes darted around Lubos' office, peering ever so slightly out from under Hunk's hood. Where would Lubos keep a confiscated knife? The cabinets in the corner? The pocket of the coat hanging from the coat rack? Was it still on his person, in the cafeteria? With him on his way home?

Lance shook his head. He had to stay optimistic.

Desk. He'd check the desk.

With light footsteps, Lance hurried to the desk by the right-hand wall and pushed Lubos' chair out of the way, freeing up space for Lance to search the drawers.

He started with the upper drawer on the right.

Opening that revealed a series of files organized alphabetically. He pushed them gently to the front and searched the back of the drawer.

No. Nothing there but a box of envelopes.

Lance carefully restored the files to where they previously sat and closed the drawer.

In moving to the next, Lance was met with a stack of finals packets, an answer key sitting proudly on top.

He hurriedly closed that drawer. He was already risking his academic career enough as it was. He didn't need to add cheating to the list. No way.

He quickly turned his attention to the thin, shallow drawer right under the desktop, the one that would have lied just above Lance's knees if he sat in the chair rather than pushing it aside. He had to reach beneath the drawer itself to wiggle it free, but once Lance had a steady grip, it opened easily.

The only contents of that drawer were a few nice pens and a letter.

A letter written in Galra.

Curious, Lance picked it up. He could _sort of_ read Galra, but he wasn't fluent by any means.

Not being fluent didn't quell Lance's curiosity, though. Maybe Lance could get some dirt on Lubos, just in case he got caught.

Lance read the first line. Or, rather, he tried to. He couldn't even make out the first _word._

The second, though... That was a name. Lance could read the second alphabet Galra texts used for names pretty easily. It was just phonetic.

Morvok. That said Morvok.

_So that first word... "Dear", maybe? "Dear Morvok" something something— Wait, no, I know that one. That's "find—" Wait! "Found"! There's that little letter, the "ag" that means it's past-tense. "Dear Morvok, something found...'Galra'"? No-no-no, that's part of the next word. Hey, I know this one, too! It's "metal"!_

Lance frowned and tipped his head to the side. He knew that words were sometimes combined in Galra to make new words, like their word for "quintessence" translated literally as "Altea-air" because quintessence was such a big part of Altean culture, more than the humans' or Galra's culture.

But...Galra-metal? Lance had no idea what that could be.

_Maybe something purple? Like amethyst? No, that'd probably be Galra-rock— Ugh, I'm wasting my time with this. It's geology stuff. Who cares? I need to hurry up and find Kogane's knife before I get—_

**_Cli-shk!_ **

_—caught!_

Lance's head shot up and he looked to the door.

"What's— Ice? Quiznacking kids..."

Lance shoved the letter back in its drawer, frantically pressing it down to lie flat like the way Lance found it before shoving the drawer closed.

A vine erupted through the two-way lock to the other side, writhing like the tongue of some vile, shapeless monster as it pushed the shards of ice Lance left behind onto the carpet.

The doorknob turned.

Lance hit the floor.

The door creaked open.

"Humph..."

Lance pressed himself to the desk drawers as Lubos made his way inside.

Between the bottom edge of the desk and the floor beneath it, Lance saw Lubos' green, four-fingered hand reach down to pluck the crushed remains of Lance's key off the floor.

"Ungrateful little snot-nosed... Human, I'll wager..."

Lance winced. _Geez, tell me how you really feel..._

Lubos returned to his full height, ice shards in hand, and drew nearer to the desk, the floor creaking under his weight with every step.

Lance held his breath and shuffled beneath the desk, as far back into the corner as he could press himself.

_Quiznak, quiznak, quiznak...!_

Lubos' legs came into view around the drawers.

Lance covered his mouth with his hand to quiet his breathing.

He was dead. He was so dead. Expelled. And he hadn't even found Kogane's stupid knife.

Lubos reached for his chair, wheeling it closer, and lowered himself into it.

Lance could only watch as his knees bent, he got comfortable, and he scooted closer, closer, blocking the light from his desk lamp, his knee inching closer, closer, an inch from Lance's nose, a centimeter, a mere sliver...

Then he stopped.

Lance let a slow breath out through his nose, eyes sliding shut. If he moved his leg even a smidge, Lance would be dead. But, though Lance was _far_ closer to Lubos' groin than he'd _ever_ wanted to be in his life, he at least still _had_ his life.

He just...had to be careful.

He'd sit as still as a rock until Lubos left, and then he could go back to searching for...Kogane's...

_Okay, you've got to be kidding me._

Lance closed his eyes as tight as they could go and pressed the back of his head to the rear corner of Lubos' desk.

So.

Okay.

Good news, Lance found Kogane's stupid knife.

Bad news, it was about a foot away, dangling from the corner of Lubos' blazer, in his inside pocket. Lance could just barely make out the edge of the handle.

_Okay, that's it,_ thought Lance. _I gave it my best try. I snuck out of my dorm, broke into my teacher's office, and dug through his drawers. But no. There's no way. Sorry, Kogane, but I am_ not _reaching into the pocket of the jacket my teacher is_ currently wearing _for a_ knife. _Kogane's not even my_ friend! _It's not like I'm about to call him up to hang out or tell him my darkest secrets or...follow him into a bathroom to cheer him up when I see he's upset...crying...because he probably just lost the only thing he has left of a parent who must have really loved him..._

The memory of Keith's angry, frustrated, desperate crying echoed in Lance's head, and he slowly moved his hand from his mouth to his ear, as if he could muffle the sound.

He couldn't.

_Ugh! Fine! Mother of god, fine!_ Lance threw down his hands, keeping his elbows close to his body so as not to nudge Lubos' legs. _Fine..._ He glared at the corner of Lubos' jacket, the one that hung just a little too heavy.

_...Countdown to when I regret every single life choice I've ever made._

He raised his hand.

_Three._

His hand reached under Lubos' knee, under his chair, toward the dangling corner and the hint of knife handle that barely stuck out of its silky pocket.

_Two._

The tip of his middle finger feathered over the butt of the knife.

_...One._

Lance pulled on the knife with the very tip of his finger, coaxing the end of Lubos' pocket closer to him.

The pocket moved, but not in the way it was supposed to. It moved _up._

Lance froze, one hand outstretched underneath Lubos' chair, the other clenching the seam of his own jeans at the ankle with a trembling vice grip. He waited for Lubos to look under the desk, to have felt him, to see him.

But Lubos didn't look down. His green, scowling face never appeared under the edge of the desktop.

All Lance saw was the very tip of a hand as it scratched the side of Lubos' round belly, moving the end of his blazer up and down.

_Good. Good, good, this is perfect. Just keep...!_

Lance grabbed the end of the knife between his first two fingers, coaxing it out bit by bit in time with Lubos' scratching.

_Doing...!_

Almost out...

_That!_

The knife slipped

It came tumbling out of Lubos' pocket, end over end. Its six-inch descent to the floor seemed to last a lifetime. Lance held his breath. He lurched forward, diving between Lubos' shins.

_Yes!_

He caught it. He caught it with the inside curve of his fingers just a few centimeters before it hit the floor.

And Lubos didn't seem to have heard the quiet smack as the flat of the sheath hit Lance's skin.

Lance curled his fingers around the knife, pressing it safely in his palm, and carefully pulled it close, avoiding the leg of Lubos' chair and the sides of his suit-clad ankles.

He held it to his chest, both hands wrapped tightly around it, like he was dying to be a bride and had just caught the bouquet.

_Okay, good. Good..._

Lance swallowed and looked up at the unfortunate view just across from his face.

_Now...I just have to...not get caught...until he leaves._

_Not a problem._

_Easy-peasy._

Lubos sniffed and cleared his throat.

His toes curled beside Lance's hip.

Lance had to bite his tongue to suppress the scream that threatened to crawl up his throat.

_...Man, I am_ dead.

* * *

"I saw what happened today."

Keith lifted his head from where he'd been staring at the sidewalk, guiltily meeting Shiro's eye for only a split second, not even looking at Matt, before ducking his head in shame.

"I know I was supposed to stay out of trouble. Getting in that fight was stupid."

"I wouldn't say stupid." Shiro's arm, warm and strong and steady, wrapped around Keith's shoulders, pulling him close as they walked. "I was going to say noble. Kind. I'm sure Hunk really appreciated what you did."

Keith shrank. That almost made him feel worse. That he'd done something that was supposed to be brave, but Shiro was the one making the sacrifice in the end.

A hand that didn't belong to Shiro ruffled his hair, and Keith looked up to see Matt grinning at him.

"We're proud of you!" said Matt, chipper in spite of the mess Keith had caused. "You, my tiny friend, are going to make one hell of a Red Apprentice one day. And the Red-Yellow bond starts here. Between you and Lance McClain, I think Hunk has two future teammates he already knows he can count on."

"Ugh..."

"Oh, no, Matt..." Shiro lifted his arm from Keith's shoulders, a smirk on his lips. "You just implied that Keith's going to be on a team with Lance McClain."

"Oh, yes." Matt pulled his face into a mock-somber frown. "Of course. What was I thinking? How dare I?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "McClain's obnoxious." He turned his head to look over his shoulder, in the direction of the school. "...But I guess he can't be that bad if he's good to his friends. At least he has _some_ redeeming qualities."

"What was _that?_ " Keith faced forward again and found Shiro grinning back at him. " _Maturity?_ In _my Keith?_ "

"And directed toward Lance McClain, no less!" Matt nudged Shiro's arm with his fist. "Hey, we should celebrate!"

" _Ha-ha,_ guys."

"No, he's right," said Shiro, head held high. "We should have a movie night, make some popcorn—"

"We can't," said Keith. "The only reason Matt's allowed over tonight is so you guys can study for finals. If your mom and dad—"

" _Our_ mom and dad," corrected Shiro.

Keith shook his head. Who cared about that? "If they catch us watching a movie, they might not let him over again."

Shiro and Matt exchanged surprised looks. They both knew that without Keith needing to tell them. They _all_ knew what kind of trouble they'd get in. No one was really serious about the movie. It was all a fantasy they indulged in. A game of pretend. One they'd played countless times before.

But Keith didn't feel like playing.

"Are you okay?" asked Shiro, voice low and kind and concerned. His impossible-to-replicate Shiro-voice. "Did something happen?"

Keith scowled at the sidewalk. Shiro didn't know about the knife. Or the guy in the bathroom. And he didn't need to know. He didn't get to have Matt over often. Keith didn't want to make the night about himself.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Shiro's hand found the top of Keith's head and pushed his hair back. Shiro-speak for "I know something's wrong, but I'm not going to force it out of you. You can talk to me when you're ready."

And Keith was indescribably grateful for that. He pressed his face into the side of Shiro's chest, hiding from the world.

Matt came in from his right, squishing him warmly and affectionately in the middle.

"What if you studied with us?" asked Shiro. "Mom and dad can't get mad about that, and we could still have popcorn."

Keith shook his head. He knew nothing was going to happen between Shiro and Matt as long as Shiro was still with Adam, but he still wanted them to have some time to themselves.

"Okay," said Matt. "So we can't do anything tonight. What about tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning sounds good to me." Shiro's arm slipped out of Keith's hair and pulled Matt closer, squishing them all even tighter against one another. "How about we all get up early and go out for doughnuts?"

"Uh, doughnuts?" Keith lifted his head.

"We could watch the sunrise," said Shiro enticingly. "I'll even buy you coffee."

Keith felt a tug at his lips. "Okay. Doughnuts."

"Doughnuts!" cheered Matt. "Heck yeah!"

Keith laughed. His heart still ached with loss, and no doughnut or cup of coffee could fix that.

But the promise of a morning with his two best friends certainly eased the pain.

* * *

The shuffling of papers over Lance's head stopped, and Lubos' chair creaked.

Lance's heart leapt into his throat, as much from hope as from fear. One of two things was about to happen. Either Lubos was about to get up and leave, or...well, the alternative, which was just as likely. And Lance didn't want to think about the alternative.

The alternative where Lubos was about to look under the desk because he felt Lance's foot or his presence or the potted plant in the corner told Lubos Lance was there or—

Oh, shoot, Lance was thinking about it.

He crossed his ankles, knees pressed to his chest, hands sandwiched in-between, knife held securely in his hands.

Lubos' feet slipped harmlessly back, he stood from his chair, and...

And he left.

He headed for the door, no checking of the perimeter, no phone call to Alfor confirming he'd known Lance was there all along and just hadn't said anything.

He just...left. Lance heard the _door close._

Just to be safe, Lance pressed his ear to the ground and looked toward the door to make sure Lubos wasn't there, waiting to ambush him.

And he wasn't.

Lance pushed Lubos' chair out of the way, and after what felt like an eternity in a cramped, sweaty, anxious hell, he climbed out from under the desk.

Lubos was really gone.

Lance laughed. He felt like _crying._ He'd never been that scared in his _life._ Not even that time he broke his abuelita's lamp and hid under his bed all night afterward. After all, his abuelita could only make him regret being born. Lubos could change his _future._

Lance ran to the window and threw it open. No way in hell was he following Lubos into the hallway. He had to put as much distance between himself and the old leafbag as possible.

The brisk winter air assaulted Lance's face as he pushed the glass pane up. The storm screen was still in the way, but he knew how to open that easily enough.

He pulled the four little, metal tabs keeping it in place and pushed the screen out, in the direction whence the chilly air came.

The ground seemed a lot farther away than one story. Lance swallowed hard. _Maybe going through the door isn't such a bad idea after all,_ he thought, a split second before he heard urgent footsteps tearing down the hall.

The door flung open, bouncing hard off the adjacent bookcase.

" _WHERE IS IT?!_ " roared Lubos. " _WHERE'S THE BLADE?!_ "

But Lance only heard it through the open window a story above the bush where he nursed his aching shoulder.

Far above him, he saw Lubos push the window screen open and look down.

But Lance knew, between the bush and the shadows of the building that curved around him, that there was no way Lubos could see him.

_...Right?_

"Quiznak!"

Lubos slammed the window closed, and Lance let out a slow breath. With a trembling laugh, he let the back of his head meet the dirt behind him.

"Hoooooly crow..."

* * *

The phone rang.

Keith froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

He exchanged a look with Shiro.

Shiro's brow furrowed.

Mrs. Shirogane stood from the table and crossed the kitchen to take the phone off the counter. "Shirogane residence."

Still seated at the table, Mr. Shirogane gave Shiro a stern look, then moved his dark gaze to Keith.

Matt didn't seem to notice, but he'd been visibly uncomfortable all afternoon, so maybe he was already at peak discomfort.

"No," said Mrs. Shirogane. "Both my sons have been here since class ended."

Keith shoved his fork into his mouth, but he couldn't taste the spaghetti it carried.

"No, sir. I've had my eyes on them since. They are both eating their dinner now, seeing as it is dinner time."

Keith swallowed hard. They were talking about him. Him and Shiro. But it didn't sound like they were talking about the fight with Griffin. What _were_ they talking about?

"See that you do," snapped Mrs. Shirogane. "Have a good night, Professor Lubos."

She hung up the phone with a sharp click and returned to her seat.

"What was that about?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Apparently, there was a theft at the school," said Mrs. Shirogane. "They thought it could have been one of you two, for some reason." Her suspicious glare bounced between Shiro and Keith. "But it couldn't have happened earlier than an hour ago, according to Professor Lubos. Unless one of you has been replaced by a clone, I don't think we need to worry about it. Providing neither of you has anything to confess."

Shiro pointedly avoided Keith's gaze. "No, ma'am."

Keith shook his head silently.

"Good," said Mrs. Shirogane in a way that suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "Now, Mr. Holt..."

"What—!" Matt's head jerked up from the hole he'd been boring into his plate with his eyes. "Um. Yes?"

"Your younger brother has started classes, hasn't he?" asked Mrs. Shirogane, her eyes on her bread as she cut into it with the side of her fork. "He's awfully young, isn't he?"

"Um, yes," said Matt. "But he's really smart. He wanted to get in bad enough, so he got in. That's just kind of how he is."

"Hm..." Mrs. Shirogane's eyes found Keith's. "I can't imagine how proud you must be."

"Very proud, ma'am."

Keith ducked his head and poked anxiously at his noodles.

"So, do you think your brother has what it takes to steal your position?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Oh, for sure," said Matt brightly.

Keith caught Shiro jerk ever so slightly as he kicked Matt under the table.

"And what will you be doing when he does?" asked Mr. Shirogane.

"Uh..." Matt cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

"You do have a plan, don't you?" asked Mrs. Shirogane. "You can't expect to be an Apprentice forever."

"Well, I've thought about studying in Daibazaal," said Matt. Shiro flinched again. "Uh— With my dad."

"Daibazaal?" scoffed Mr. Shirogane. "What's there in Daibazaal to study? A bunch of rocks?"

Matt went quiet until Shiro kicked him again.

"...Yeah! Exactly! It's a geological venture. We'd be researching their Balmeran-like crystals and studying their effects on quintessence. That's my dad's field of study. Quintessence."

Mr. Shirogane returned his attention to his food with a dismissive nod, and not a word more was said until dinner was done with.

"No, stop." Mrs. Shirogane snapped her fingers as Keith reached for Shiro's plate, seizing a violent flinch out of him. "This is good china. I won't have you breaking it. _I'll_ be doing the dishes."

She turned her back as she stood from her chair, just long enough for a horrified expression to cross Matt's face.

Keith set his own plate down. "...Okay."

Shiro set a hand on his shoulder, barely long enough for the gesture to avoid being called a pat, and nodded toward the hallway.

They made it to just outside Shiro's door before Matt scooped Keith up in the most enveloping hug he could manage, as if he was trying to shield Keith from view.

"Oh, my god, that _sucked,_ " hissed Matt. "How do you two stand it here every day? Keith—" He pulled back and held Keith's face. Well, more like squeezed his cheeks, hands anxious and pressing just a little too hard. "Keith, being snapped at for trying to do the dishes is dumb. Like, really dumb. You know that, right?"

Keith pulled his hands down silently, unsure of what to say.

"We'll be fine," assured Shiro. "We've made it this long. It just takes..."

"Patience," murmured Keith.

Shiro smiled. "That's right. Patience." He ran his hand through Keith's hair, the opposite hand content on Matt's back, convincing him to let go. "You sure you don't want to stay with us?"

"I don't want them asking questions," said Keith.

" _God..._ " hissed Matt.

"We'll be here," said Shiro, ignoring Matt's comment. "If you decide you'd rather be with us, you can come down at any time."

He held out his hand, and Keith clasped it with a quiet clap before allowing himself to be pulled into a hug that was less protective than Matt's.

"Good night, Keith."

Keith closed his eyes, safe and happy for only a moment. "'Night, Shiro."

Matt patted his hair fondly, worry in his eyes. Keith managed a smile he hoped was reassuring, and he headed for the stairs.

As Keith reached the stairs, he heard Matt's voice carry faintly across the hallway.

"You know, if someone talked to Darrell like that, I'd..."

Keith reached the top of the stairs and closed himself in his room. Maybe Matt and Shiro would eventually be able to move off Shiro's parents and focus on themselves. Maybe.

But it would be easier if Keith wasn't there.

Keith sat on the floor and held his hands out in front of the face.

_"I want them to be happy."_

Tiny flames sprouted on the ends of his fingertips, arcing from finger to finger like electricity.

_"I love them. I want them to be happy."_

The flames swirled around his fingers.

_"I'll...be...fine."_

Quicker than the flames appeared, they died.

Keith curled his fingers until his fingernails pressed into his palms.

"...I'll be fine."

Keith stood away from the door and moved to his desk. The sound of a trumpet called up from under his feet as he reached for his schoolbag. He could at least try to study, though he doubted he'd be able to focus.

Keith grabbed one of his plastic binders from his bag and tore a sheet of paper from its rings.

He held it up, half-folded, six inches from his face.

_"...A part of me is torn from me._

_From body, rent an arm."_

The page erupted in flame.

_"My heart is haunted, mind consumed..."_

The flames reached high enough to lick the ceiling.

_"...by earth-upending harm."_

The paper, reduced to ash, crumbled to the floor, and the flames shot all the way up to Keith's shoulder, burning, but not blackening his jacket or searing his skin.

He closed his hand, and the flames disappeared.

The mark they left on the ceiling, however, stayed.

Keith sighed and opened his desk drawer. A small tube of paint rolled to the front. He'd have to fix that before Shiro's parents saw.

Again.

Keith grabbed his paintbrush and climbed onto his chair. With hands practiced from the significant number of times he'd already repainted his ceiling, he squeezed a dollop of paint directly onto the brush and raised it over his head, careful not to drop it onto his floor.

The blackened spot became a distant memory in only a few brushstrokes, and Keith climbed down. He'd have to hide the brush in his sleeve to clean it in the bathroom sink, and he'd get paint on his hand, but it would wash off in the sink.

Keith headed for the door, already tucking the end of his brush into his jacket sleeve, but only the very tip had crossed the edge of his cuff when he froze.

Literally.

Keith shivered. It felt as though some kind of...reverse-dragon had just breathed into his bedroom.

"What—?"

He turned around, half-convinced he'd accidentally melted a hole into his balcony door.

He hadn't, but frost swirled in floral whorls across the glass, and for the first time, Keith realized he heard music. Not Matt's trumpet or Shiro's drums from beneath his feet, but another melody, something from outside.

A guitar.

Keith inched toward the door, absently abandoning his wet paintbrush on his desk as he passed.

Beneath him, Matt's trumpet stopped, and so did Shiro's drumming, but only for a moment. Keith heard his brother laugh, surprised, through the floor, and the drumming resumed, on beat with the inexplicable drumming.

Keith threw his curtains open, revealing the entirety of his glass doors and the frost that had completely consumed them. The metal handle was almost unbearably cold to Keith's hands as they scrambled to unlock it.

Despite the ice, the door slid open easily, and Keith was greeted with...snow. Snow, drifting somehow down from a cloudless, starry sky.

Keith crept forward uncertainly, bare hand held out to catch the snowflakes. They were...just a little too big to be natural, in flakes with glittering, complex patterns that were readily visible to the naked eye. Definitely magical, from someone without much experience, but more than enough personality to make up for it.

Keith dusted his hands off on his jeans and approached the railing of his balcony.

_"My ex-girlfriend Kitty is so very pretty—”_

"You...!"

A floor beneath him, a figure in an oversized, yellow hoodie danced in tune with his own guitar, spinning around a short, fat, glowing pillar of ice that held something long and thin, like a glass case in a museum. Keith squinted, trying to make out the shape of what it held from where he stood despite the figure obscuring his view and the overwhelming emotions that gripped Keith's heart as it slowly came to grips with the reality of what was happening.

The same boy from before had found out where he lived. And Keith knew there was something inherently creepy about that, that he should have been weirded out by some boy from his school showing up uninvited, in his back yard, outside his bedroom, at night, with his face hidden under a hood, but...he wasn't. Keith wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it wasn't fear.

_"—But she's not as sweet as she seems!"_

The figure planted his foot on the corner of his frozen pillar and kicked it forward. It slid harmlessly across the grass, no evidence left behind, nothing for his parents to see, provided they hadn't already heard the singing or seen the frost.

_"For my ex-girlfriend Kitty_

_Is so very pretty..."_

The pillar hit the edge of the deck beneath Keith's balcony, and instead of bouncing back like it should have done, it bounced straight up, rising until it was level with Keith's balcony, where Keith could finally see what was inside, glittering in the light of the flames conjured in the corners of the display, familiar, infallibly recognizable.

And all Keith could do was stare, speechless.

His hands reached numbly of their own accord, seeking out the familiar comfort Keith had already given up on seeing again.

_"She's stolen the man of my dreams!"_

The frozen case exploded the same way the rose had before. Unlike before, the flames burst as well, sending glittering embers cascading around Keith like fireworks.

But Keith found it hard to focus on their beauty when his mother's knife clattered to his balcony floor at his feet.

Wide-eyed, Keith bent down and snatched it from the wooden planks.

He freed the blade from its sheath. All the same nicks and scratches in its shining surface were there, distorting his reflection in the way it always had. No replica had found its way into his hands. It was the real deal.

Keith looked over the railing, searching for the boy in the yard below him, but there was no sign of him. He must have slipped into the forest behind Keith's house while he was distracted.

Keith hadn't even been able to thank him.

With a hard swallow, Keith sheathed his knife, held it protectively to his chest, and sat on his balcony floor, back pressed to the railing.

With the guitar having stopped, and Shiro's drumming with it, all Keith heard in the cold, winter night was the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

"Whoa..."

* * *

Shiro sat back in his chair, laughing to himself, eyes peering through the window that separated his room from the deck outside.

"That...was classic," said Matt, grinning from the foot of Shiro's bed. "Whoever that kid was, they’ve got guts."

"I'll have to talk to Keith about what happened in the morning," said Shiro. "Make sure he's okay with it. But if he is... _man._ I'm almost jealous. If Adam did anything like that for me, maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

Shiro's attention shifted from the window to Matt's face, which had lost its grin.

Guilt pricked at the back of Shiro's skull, and a queasiness settled in his stomach.

He smiled despite that. "Nothing. Let's get back to practicing, unless you're okay with invoking Zarkon's wrath."

"Nope!" chirped Matt. "No, he's scary enough when he's happy. Back to work."

Shiro nodded. "Back to work..."

* * *

Lance rolled through the window and landed on his back, giggling in a glee half-delirious from adrenaline, guitar hugged to his chest.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Hunk appeared in his line of sight, bent over Lance's face, ends of his headband dangling over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it!" Lance sat up, moving his guitar to his lap. "Here, you can have your hoodie back." He grabbed it by the back of the collar and yanked it over his head.

"You're killing me, Lance! You're gonna kill me! With stress!"

" _Calm down,_ Hunk!" Lance threw the hoodie at Hunk's face. "No one saw me!"

Hunk pulled the hoodie off his head and wrung it between his hands. "Okay, but if someone traces this hoodie back to me, I'm absolutely ratting you out. Don't think I won't."

"Sure, buddy. But it's not gonna happen." Lance kicked his shoes off and climbed unceremoniously into bed. "Good night!"

Hunk sighed, exasperated. "Good night, Lance..."

Lance listened to Hunk's bed creak as he climbed in, and only once Hunk turned his desk light out did Lance realize how wide he was still smiling.

He tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't.

The look on Kogane's face was...priceless. But not in the way that _usually_ made Lance smile when it came to Kogane.

Lance wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy to make some else happy. Kogane or otherwise.

There was something weird about it _being_ Kogane at all, of course, but...

Well, whatever. Lance could worry about whatever that was later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5-1-29 // 2-2-9 // 5-1-5 // 3-1-21 // 4-4-24 // 4-4-12 // 2-4-7 // 1-3-12 // 2-3-1 // 2-4-1 // 3-6-5  
> // 2-1-7 // 1-2-19 // 3-2-12
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	6. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who have survived finals, congratulations! Consider this your reward for doing so.
> 
> To those who still have finals yet to complete, stay strong! I know you can do it!
> 
> And to those celebrating Hanukkah, _Chag Sameach!_

Keith sank his teeth into the doughnut Shiro had bought him and leaned back in his chair, content just to absorb the savory-sweet flavor and listen to Matt and Shiro talk.

"So the entire thing was messed up—broken—because you used the wrong kind of apostrophe?"

"Yep. Luckily, though, I had a backup. I lost about a week of work, though, because the backup was out of date."

"A week of work is better than the entire project, though."

"Oh, yeah, naturally. And it's been a long time since I last made a mistake like _that._ I learned much from my young and foolish mistake."

"Mm. You know, speaking of young and foolish... Keith."

Keith swallowed hard, his latest bite getting briefly caught in his throat before shooting into his stomach like a bullet. "Uh— Yeah?"

Shiro set his chin in his hand, a serene smile on his face. Too serene. Calculated.

Matt laced the fingers of either hand together and sat his chin on the station they formed, his own smile mirroring Shiro's.

" _What?_ " demanded Keith.

"Who was your friend?" asked Shiro.

"Friend— _What_ friend?"

"From last night."

All the heat in Keith's body seemed to rush directly into his face. _Shit._ "Uh..." He reached for his coffee, looking hard into its lid, grateful for anywhere to direct his gaze but the pair of expectant smiles in front of him. "You... You know about that?"

"About some kid performing some pretty impressive feats of magic right outside my window?" Shiro huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I might have noticed."

"It was pretty hard to miss," attested Matt.

Keith flicked the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup with his thumbnail. "...Do your mom and dad know?"

"No," said Shiro, all amusement leaving his voice. "If they did, you wouldn't have to ask. I don't think the frost reached past the south-facing side of the house. You're safe."

Keith let go of the breath he'd trapped in his chest. There was no real danger, then. Just Shiro and Matt teasing him. He could handle that.

Keith took a look around the doughnut shop to make sure there was no one suspicious listening in on the conversation at their round table. He didn't see anyone in a suit, anyone who seemed like they might have known the Shirogane family. The only other person in the shop—aside from the employees—was a man with a leather jacket and a pair of cool, fingerless gloves absently swirling his coffee with a short straw and watching the sunrise through the window. Shiro's parents would never be caught dead talking to someone like that.

Still, Keith lowered his voice and leaned in toward the center of the table before answering Shiro's question.

"...I don't know."

Shiro scooted forward as well, brow furrowed with concern. "What?"

"You asked who it was," said Keith. "I don't know. I couldn't see his face. He was wearing this big, yellow hoodie that was pulled down over his eyes."

"You seem pretty sure it's a _he,_ though," noted Matt.

Keith nodded. "Yesterday, after my fight with Griffin, someone followed me into the men's restroom and tried to cheer me up through the door."

"Probably a guy, then," agreed Shiro.

"To think the outdated cultural norm of gender segregation actually came in handy for something," hummed Matt. "Darrell would love to hear that."

"So you didn't see his face then, either?" asked Shiro.

Keith shook his head. "I was kind of...hiding, and I didn't think about opening the stall door until he was gone."

"But you're sure it was the guy?" asked Matt.

"He sang the same song," said Keith. "And he said he wrote it. Even if he was lying about that and it was just some pop song I haven't heard, I don't think it can be a coincidence that it was the same song outside my window. Besides, his magic was the same, too."

"What do you mean his _magic_ was the same?" asked Shiro.

"It..." Keith licked his lips. "When he makes an ice sculpture, it bursts into snowflakes when you touch it."

"So either it's the same guy," said Matt, "or it's someone who's trying to make you _think_ it's the same guy."

"Was there anyone in the bathroom when you met?" asked Shiro.

"No," said Keith. "Just us."

Shiro and Matt turned toward each other.

"Same guy," they concluded simultaneously.

Shiro turned toward Keith again. "Do you think he's dangerous at all?"

"No," said Keith. "I don't think someone who would _anonymously_ help someone else would be dangerous."

"Unless he was trying to earn your trust," said Shiro.

"Anonymous, Shiro," said Keith. "I'm not going around trusting everyone with a blue guitar. Not when almost a fifth of the population in Altea plays guitar."

"I don't know," said Matt. "The face-hiding thing kind of makes him _more_ suspicious to me. What does he have to hide?"

"The Blade of Marmora hide their faces," said Keith.

Matt hummed with a shrug, conceding Keith's point.

"Okay," said Shiro. "I'll trust your judgment. But if something changes, and you're not sure he has your best interests at heart, don't hesitate to tell me immediately. Some guy you don't know showing up outside your window at night—"

"It's a little stalker-ish," said Keith easily. "Yeah, I know. I'm not dumb. But the whole reason he showed up in the first place was to bring me..." Keith averted his eyes. "S...Something I lost." He bit his lip. "...I don't think he's going to come back, though, so you don't have to worry."

"A stalker would have probably kept what he lost, right?" murmured Matt, his voice obviously intended only for Shiro's ear, unaware Keith could hear him easily. "I think I'm with Keith. It's _probably_ fine. Probably."

Shiro nodded, agreeing, and turned his eyes back to Keith.

"Well... Either way, I doubt this is the last time you're going to see him."

Keith's heart skipped a beat. "What? What do you mean?"

"He cared enough to come all the way to our house," said Shiro. "Presumably on foot. Presumably after sneaking out of his dorm."

Keith set his doughnut on his napkin and pushed his coffee away to pull his jacket tightly around himself. _Presumably after sneaking into Lubos' office to get my knife back._

"As long as he doesn't properly introduce himself to you at school before break, I'd be surprised if he didn't show up in our back yard again."

Keith lifted his head and met Shiro's eyes.

"Like I said," he murmured, gray eyes softening, "I'm trusting your judgment. If he comes back, and you decide you want to talk to him, I won't stop you. But if you start to sense he could be dangerous, if your trust starts to waver, I need you to tell me. I won't think less of you for trusting the wrong person. We all do that at least once in our lives. That's how we _learn_ who we can and can't trust. You won't be in trouble if you come to me. The only thing that's going to happen is that I'll keep you safe. Okay?"

"Okay," said Keith, feeling small.

"Promise me," said Shiro. " _Promise_ you'll come to me if you start to feel unsafe"

"I promise," said Keith.

Shiro got to his feet and walked around the table.

"Okay."

He held out a hand.

Keith stood warily from his chair and grasped Shiro's hand, sealing the promise.

No sooner than their hands met did Keith feel himself yanked forward, pulled into Shiro's arms. He tensed for no longer than a second before he pressed his face into Shiro's chest, so much so that his next few words were muffled.

"Do you really think he's coming back?"

"Yes, Keith," whispered Shiro. "I really do."

* * *

"Augh, _Hunk...!_ "

"I know!" Hunk snorted up all the snot he was getting on Lance's shoulder. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I just—!" He let go of Lance and looked at him with big, watery eyes.

Lance rolled his eyes and patted the top of Hunk's head. "You act like we're not gonna be roommates again next year."

"Yeah, but—!" Hunk sniffed. "But that's so far!"

"It's just a couple of months, buddy..." Lance gave Hunk his best smile. "Then we get to spend every day together again."

Hunk pulled his head back and rubbed his eyes with the side of his fist. "Yeah, but I'm an Apprentice now, so we're not gonna have any classes together next year! I'm gonna be with Gyrgan getting private tutoring the whole year!"

"We didn't exactly have every class together _this_ year," said Lance.

"But we _could_ have had classes together next year, and now we _can't!_ " whined Hunk.

"I know, pal," sighed Lance. "It's gonna be okay, though. We'll still see each other every day. And you're gonna do great as Gyrgan's student. It'll be fine."

Hunk sniffed and nodded pitifully, finally letting go of Lance and taking a step back.

"Okay." Lance inched toward his bed and the suitcase lying open on the bedspread. "Can I go back to packing now?"

"Yeah... I'm just..." Hunk scrubbed his cheeks. "I'm gonna miss you _so much._ "

"I'll miss you, too," said Lance. "But I'll text you every day."

“Yeah..."

"You won't even know I'm gone."

"Yeah..."

"And if you miss me too much, you're going to miss out on all the time you're _not_ missing tests."

"You're—"

Hunk hiccupped and played with the cuff of his sleeve.

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I'm...?"

"I...like you more than I hate tests," murmured Hunk, so quietly Lance could barely hear him.

"What?" Lance laughed. "Hunk, I've seen you _throw up_ from test anxiety."

Fresh tears rolled down Hunk's cheeks. "Uh-huh...!"

Lance's heart squeezed and twisted and knotted in his chest. Tears sprung to his own eyes. " _Hunk..._ " He held out his arms, this time happily inviting Hunk in. "Get back over here, you big, beautiful boy. You can't just say that and _not_ get hugged."

Hunk didn't need to be told twice. He ran into Lance's arms and squeezed him tight enough to lift him off the floor.

Lance laughed, as much as he could when all the air was pressed out of him by Hunk's surprisingly strong arms. "You are the biggest ball of mush I've ever met," he wheezed. "I love you so much."

Hunk lifted Lance even higher off the floor.

It took a great deal of effort for Lance to finish his packing after Hunk's cheese and pure emotion became his own, but with both packing and finals behind him, Lance said his goodbyes to Hunk and made the walk to the train station.

To call the platform busy would have been an understatement. Nearly every student from the Garrison had found their way to the tracks, a stark contrast from the beginning of the year, when Lance had arrived early in the morning on the day of orientation instead of the day before, when most students arrived.

Lance brought his suitcase to the edge of the canal. Several others sat along the water's edge, eating their lunch and talking amongst themselves. Lance felt a sadness creep into his smile as he listened to them chatter on. He already missed Hunk more than he thought he would. If Hunk didn't live with his family in Altea, they'd be able to eat lunch on the grass just like everyone else, maybe while they waited to board the same train, where they'd spend the next few hours talking about how excited they were to visit each other all winter long.

But Lance would be okay. It wasn't like he was _alone._ Hunk wasn't his only friend. Just...his only _human_ friend.

_Hey, girl..._ Lance kneeled at the water's edge, careful of the guitar on his back, hand firmly wrapped around his suitcase's metal handle. _How have you been?_

The Blue Lion didn't respond. She simply watched the world with her glowing, golden eyes, the same way she always did.

_So, I didn't make apprentice this year,_ admitted Lance. _But— But I still have five more chances, right? There's no rush. People don't usually make Apprentice in their first year anyway. Hunk did, but that's because he's Hunk and he's amazing. You'll like having him on your team, I promise. And when I make Apprentice, we're gonna have a stronger bond than any Paladins ever have, and they'll never find anyone better for the job, and we'll make it all the way to Paladin. Just you wait_.

Still, the Blue Lion remained silent.

Lance would hear her voice someday, though. He just knew it. All he had to do was wait.

He leaned back, sitting on his heels, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of red in the distance.

A familiar jacket belonging to a familiar mullet-sporting rival of his.

_Kogane?_ Lance narrowed his eyes. _What's_ he _doing here?_

Frowning—though more from surprise than vitriol, to Lance's own surprise—he stood from the grass, patted his jeans dry, and dragged his suitcase onto the cobblestone and through the crowd to the last person he expected to see at a crowded train station.

"I thought you lived in Altea!"

Despite Lance's loud call, Kogane didn't seem to notice he was being spoken to at first, his gaze caught adrift in the sea of homebound travelers. It wasn't until his scanning eyes landed on Lance that he apparently realized that statement had been directed at him.

"I do," said Kogane with a roll of his eyes.

"So what are you doing here?" asked Lance. "Trying to track down James Griffin for one last brawl before he gets out of face-punching range?"

"None of your business," snapped Keith.

"Geez, touchy..." Lance shoved his hand in his jacket pocket. "It's not like I'm here to pick a fight. You stood up for Hunk. That's grounds for a truce until at _least_ the end of break."

Kogane didn't have anything to say to that. Still, unless it was Lance's emotion, it looked like he lost a little of the tension in his shoulders as he returned to his searching.

"Seriously, who are you looking for?" asked Lance. "I thought your only friends were, like, Shiro and the Holts, and they both live in Altea. They wouldn't be here. What gives?"

Kogane threw his head back and sent an exasperated groan into the clouds. "You—!" He glared at Lance. " _Why do you know so much about me?_ "

"I am a very observant person," said Lance proudly. "So what's your deal? Are you trying to confess your undying love to some girl you've been crushing on all year or what?"

"Will you _please_ leave me alone?" sighed Kogane.

"So you _are._ "

" _What?!_ " Kogane's face turned the color of his jacket. "No! I'm not! Can— Can you please just _go away?_ "

Lance clicked his tongue. _Way to treat the guy who got your knife back._ Not that Kogane would know it was him. Lance made sure.

However...

Lance grinned and bumped Kogane's arm with his own. "Ever get your knife back?"

"Yeah," said Kogane tersely, his gaze diving right back into the crowd. "I did."

"Cool, cool..." Lance rocked back and forth on his feet. "So, did your parents get it for you?"

"I don't have parents," said Kogane.

"Fine," said Lance. "Did the _Shiroganes_ get it for you?"

" _No._ "

"Then how'd you get it back?"

" _None of your business._ "

Lance raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Kogane seemed awfully fond of that phrase.

"You know what?" Lance leaned in, watching Kogane's expression closely. "I bet you _stole_ it."

"Think what you want," said Kogane without missing a beat.

_What?_

Lance furrowed his brow and leaned away, appraising Kogane from head to toe and back up.

...Okay.

So, that wasn't what Kogane was supposed to say.

Kogane had been pretty upfront about the whole knife situation up to that point. Maybe he didn't talk about the _handsome, mysterious hero_ who brought his precious knife back to him in the dark of night _at first,_ but Lance would have bet an entire sleeve of cookies on Kogane admitting someone came to his rescue the second he came under scrutiny. And then _Lance_ was supposed to tease him about how fake it sounded and laugh his ass off the second Kogane was out of earshot.

So what the _heck—?_

"You know that makes you sound super suspicious," said Lance, "right?"

"Yep," said Kogane, still scanning the crowd, not looking at Lance once.

Lance worked his mouth, looking for a response, but he couldn't find one.

Was Kogane _taking credit_ for all the hard work Lance went through to get that stupid knife? Or—

Lance felt a warmth creep into his face.

Or was Keith trying to keep him from getting caught? Even if that meant taking the fall himself?

Kogane's eyes shot from the crowd to Lance. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Looking—?" Lance bristled. "I wasn't _looking_ at _anything!_ You— Shut up!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

" _Fine!_ "

A loud whistle wailed across the platform and Lance lifted his head to turn toward the screen on the station all.

"Welp!" Lance stretched his back. "Looks like that's my train."

"Safe travels," said Kogane, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"See you in March, Mullet."

With all the urgency of someone who saw smoke in the direction of their neighborhood and just remembered they left their oven on, Lance tore away from Kogane and pushed his way onto the train that had just pulled in, ignoring the protests of anyone in his way.

With far more force than ever should have been necessary, Lance pushed his suitcase into the luggage rack over his seat.

And he sat.

And he _squirmed._

Kogane wasn't supposed to be like that. Like...

_I don't know... Nice? Ish?_

Lance made a face in his window's reflection. "Nice" wasn't really the right word. Kogane had been a jerk for that whole conversation.

But he'd been _something._ Something different. And Lance didn't like the change.

He didn't like it at all.

* * *

A huff—loud, heavy, and adolescent—sounded to the right of Shiro's ear, echoing through the now-barren train station, and a weight hit the bench beside him, hard and rough.

"No luck?" presumed Shiro, lifting his coffee to take a drink.

" _No,_ " grumbled Keith. "The only people with yellow hoodies were either girls or they had the wrong body type."

"Same here," said Shiro. "Not many kids came inside. They were all out with their friends."

Keith leaned into Shiro's arm. "...Thanks for coming with me anyway."

"No problem," said Shiro, a smile creeping onto his lips. "You know I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Ugh, it's _not romantic!_ " protested Keith. "I just—!" He buried his face in Shiro's sleeve. "I just want to know who he is."

"I know." Shiro patted the top of his head. "And I just want to tease you from time to time."

Keith groaned, and in the same instant, Shiro felt a vibration from his pocket. He reached inside to grab his phone, looked at the screen, and huffed a sigh that echoed the one Keith had let out when he joined Shiro on the bench.

"Adam?" asked Keith, lifting his head off Shiro's arm.

Shiro raised his eyebrows at him. "Yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

Keith closed his eyes. "You sounded annoyed," he said, matter-of-fact.

" _Keith,_ " warned Shiro.

" _What?_ " Keith sat up. "You're _always_ fighting with him! Why are you even _with_ someone you don't _like?_ "

"I _do_ like him," said Shiro. "Just because we get in disagreements sometimes—"

" _All_ the time."

"I love him, Keith." Shiro squeezed Keith's shoulder. "Part of being an adult is working through your problems and making compromises—"

"Part of it," said Keith. "Not all of it. Name _one thing_ you actually like about Adam."

"He's a good kisser," said Shiro automatically.

"When was the last time you kissed him, though?" asked Keith. "And even if you kissed him all the time, is that a good enough reason to keep dating someone who—who makes you _miserable?_ "

"He keeps my feet on the ground."

"He _crushes your dreams,_ " said Keith. "I think the only people who like to remind you that Apprentices rarely make Paladin more than Adam are your parents."

" _Our_ parents," corrected Shiro. "And I love them, too."

Keith grabbed Shiro's wrist and pulled it down from his shoulder. " _Why?_ They don't love _you._ They don't love _either_ of us."

A stab of concern shot through Shiro's heart. "Of course they do."

"If they did, you wouldn't have to hide Adam from them," said Keith. "Love isn't love when you have to pretend to be someone else to get it."

Shiro blinked, surprised. That was...surprisingly profound for Keith, a boy who, by all accounts, preferred most things to stay simple.

But Shiro supposed, to Keith, that _was_ simple.

"So many people love you," said Keith. "Matt and his whole family and Allura and all the Paladins. I don't get why you stay."

"Stay with who?" asked Shiro, his voice closer to a whisper than he meant for it to be. "Adam? Or Mom and Dad?"

Keith shrugged. Both, then. Okay.

"Well, I think I explained myself well enough when it comes to Adam. As for Mom and Dad..." Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith's shoulders and pulled him close. "It is expected that Apprentice Paladins live with their parents or guardians until they are either replaced or made Paladin. The idea is that a Paladin-to-be should be able to focus entirely on their training without worrying where their next meal is coming from. Paladins are Altea's greatest defense. Their training is _kind_ of important."

Shiro smiled.

Keith looked up at him with uncertain eyes.

"There's one more thing, though," said Shiro. "One big, important thing that keeps me from leaving home. Do you know what that is?"

"No..." Keith frowned. "What?"

Shiro set his coffee on the arm of the bench and wrapped his other arm around Keith's shoulders, pulling him into a warm, tight hug.

"You," he whispered. " _You_ are _so important to me._ "

Keith's hands fisted in the fabric of Shiro's coat.

Shiro planted a kiss on the top of Keith's head and pressed his cheek into the point he kissed.

"For as long as I can, I'm going to stay by your side," he swore. "At least until you don't need me anymore."

"That's not going to happen," said Keith. "I'll always need you. I... I just want you to be happy. And you're _not_ with Adam."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

"No." Keith pulled out of the hug. "Not while you're still unhappy."

"I'm perfectly happy."

"Come _on,_ Shiro. You deserve someone you _actually_ love, who loves _you._ "

"Like who?"

"Like—!"

Keith sat back and pursed his lips. He inhaled a sharp, heated breath through his nose.

For a split second, Shiro was worried Keith was about to suggest himself. Thankfully, he didn't.

Less thankfully, that was because...

"Like Matt."

Because Keith knew Shiro far more than Shiro had ever given him credit for.

He threw his head back, grimacing, hoping Keith took his knee-jerk reaction as exasperation rather than as a flinch from a perfect bullseye.

_I can't be that obvious._

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. "Keith, listen. I _do_ love Matt. But there are many _kinds_ of love—"

"And you feel _all_ of them for Matt," said Keith stubbornly. "I'm not stupid."

"Would it matter if I did?" Shiro lowered his hand from his face and looked Keith in the eye. "Relationships aren't just about how we feel. They're also about the choices we make, and I chose Adam."

"It's a bad choice," said Keith.

"It's still mine to make," said Shiro. "Not yours."

Keith glared at the floor, his hands curling into fists on his lap.

"Come on." Shiro grabbed his coffee cup and stood from the bench.

"Come on." He set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "We need to get home. It's almost curfew."

Keith stood from his bench, grumbling. "You know, it's really dumb for someone who's almost twenty-two to have a six o'clock curfew, right?"

Shiro ruffled Keith's hair. "Come on, Keith..."

* * *

Matt watched the pea plant from his terra cotta pot stretch high into the air, reaching for the sun.

A tiny, quiet rapping came at Matt's door, and Matt lowered his clarinet. "It's open."

His bedroom door opened just a crack, and a wide, honey-colored eye peeked inside.

"Um... Matt?"

"Darrell?" Matt set his clarinet on his desk between his flute and his trumpet. "What's going on?"

"Um..." Darrell gripped the edge of the door. "I was... Can I...talk to you?"

"Of course," said Matt. "Always. About anything. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong,_ " said Darrell. "I'm just...nervous."

Matt leaned forward in his desk chair, over his knees. Even from where he sat, he could see a glimmer of tears in Darrell's eyes.

"Hey, come here..." Matt opened his arms. "You don't have to be scared. No matter what you're about to tell me, you'll still be my little brother at the end of it."

Darrell pressed his forehead into the door. A faint, miserable noise whined out of his tiny body.

"Hey, hey..." Matt jumped to his feet and rushed to the door. "Hey."

He pulled the door open, and Darrell latched onto his waist.

Matt dropped to his knees and held Darrell close.

"What's going on, huh?"

Darrell lifted his head, tears in his eyes, and Matt patiently waited.

He waited.

And he waited.

Until Darrell found the words he—

...She.

Until she found the words she wanted to say.

* * *

Sam Holt crouched in front of the organism his team discovered in Daibazaal.

The organism, whatever it was, stayed dormant.

Every so often, when Sam's teammates came and went, the creature would _react._ It went from hovering still in space to bashing against the glass, like it had some vendetta against whoever had walked in.

Sam was sure there had to be some pattern to it.

Sometimes as little as three people could set it off. Sometimes it took as many as ten. It didn't seem to relate to the demographics of the person entering in any way. Sometimes, a person who entered the lab without event before would set the creature off by entering later, or vice versa.

There must have been some external stimuli introduced when certain people entered at certain times of day, but Sam couldn't figure it out for the life of him.

Whatever the trigger was, Sam wasn't setting it off just by himself.

A series of chirps filled the lab, and Sam reached into his pocket to grab his cheerfully ringing cell.

"Yello!"

"Are you actually coming home in time for dinner tonight, or should I put your portion in the refrigerator?"

**_plink_ **

**_plink_ **

**_plink_ **

Sam turned his attention briefly from his wife's voice to the creature in its thick, glass cylinder.

It was ramming the sides again, and no one else had walked in.

Colleen's phone call was enough to set it off.

How curious.

"Oh, I'll be home on time," said Sam. "Barring any life-threatening misfortunes."

"You better," said Colleen. "Our child apparently has something important to tell us."

"Is Matt doing the 'pretending something of grave importance is happening, then dramatically re-emerging from the closet as if we still somehow thought he was straight' thing again?"

**_PLINK_ **

**_PLINK_ **

**_PLINK_ **

"Not tonight," said Colleen. "It's our child-sized child this time."

"Huh." Sam pressed his hand to the organism's glass case. "Well, maybe it's time for Darrell to finally come out of his shell."

"Or something else."

"You think? So young?"

"It's possible."

"Well, if he does, we'll make sure he knows he's just as loved as he's always been."

"We might be going out for cupcakes after dinner, then."

"I'll never have a single complaint to that." Sam peered inside the glass container, watching the organism bash itself against the walls of its confinement.

**_CLINK_ **

**_CLINK_ **

**_CLINK_ **

"I've got some things to wrap up here," said Sam. "I'm looking forward to a wonderful dinner with my beautiful family."

"See you soon. Love you."

"Love you to the moon and back."

Sam ended the call, and the moment he did, the organism inside the case ceased its frantic wrestling.

"Now what in the _world_ could have set you off?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3-1-19 // 3-2-16 // 6-3-5 // 3-2-7 // 3-2-34 // 3-2-24 // 4-3-6 // 6-2-14
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en)  
> [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	7. Two Masks

Keith leaned forward on his balcony chair and looked out into the back yard, into the thick, heavy layer of snow. There was a funny little part of him that wanted to believe the snow came from the mystery boy’s magic, but he knew it was the weather. It was just a little fantasy.

A soft puff of air passed his lips and rose into the air on a cloud of steam. Goosebumps crawled along his bare arms.

He probably shouldn’t have been sitting outside in the snow like he was, but…

The glass door behind Keith slid open. He froze. His shoulders tensed. He waited for the stern, angry snap.

But all that met him was a warm hand on his back, and he relaxed instantly.

“I told you he’s probably spending winter break with his family,” said Shiro, his voice low in both tone and volume.

“I know, but I— Um.” Keith looked over his shoulder. “Uh… Who?”

Shiro smiled, and a breathy laugh fogged the air beneath his nose. “I think you know who. And if he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not going to until school starts again.”

He walked around Keith’s shoulder and rested his hips against the railing around Keith’s balcony. He crossed his arms, but not in a way that seemed defensive or isolating. He just seemed...strong. Like Keith could lean on him and he’d stay right where he was.

Instead, Keith leaned his chin on his own crossed arms and looked back out into the snow.

“What do you think he’s doing right now?”

“Probably eating dinner with his family,” said Shiro. “Just like you should be doing.” He patted Keith’s shoulder and stood up straight. “Come on. It’s ready.”

* * *

“Okay, guys! Come on! I can’t breathe!”

One by one, Lance’s siblings and parents let go of him and stepped back, starting with his father and ending with Veronica, who ruffled his hair as she pulled away.

“How was your first year?” asked Marco. “Got a girlfriend yet?”

“Or a boyfriend?” asked Rachel, looping her arms back around Lance’s shoulders.

“You guys act like I don’t write you, like, every other week!” huffed Lance, pushing Rachel away.

“Well, I didn’t get to hear it,” said Veronica, a smile on her face. “How about friends? Have you made any of those yet?”

“Oh, yeah!” chirped Lance. “You should totally meet Hunk! He’s _the best._ But that’s for later. Veronica! What’s it like in Daibazaal?”

“Cold at night,” said Veronica. “Hot during the day. I’m still not used to the culture there. Like, another of the girls there started telling me about her dog, and I asked what his name was, and she looked at me like I threatened her grandma or something. And _that’s_ how I learned you don’t really ask people questions about themselves in Daibazaal. Personal information is treated like a commodity. Asking for someone’s phone number so you can text them about homework is like asking for a hundred bucks. If you want to know something about someone, you offer your own, and they’ll give theirs back.”

“So, like, instead of saying ‘Hi, my name’s Lance, what’s yours?’ I’d _have_ to just say ‘Hi, I’m Lance’? That’s so _weird!_ ”

“It’s not weird, Lance,” said his father. “It’s just their custom. But let’s not get all tangled up in that just yet. Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you’re in the mood for pizza. With _garlic knots._ ”

Lance threw his arms in the air. “ _Yes!_ Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good garlic knot? They made some at school once, and I got all excited, but they tasted like they went stale, like, two months before or something, and—”

His mother descended on him abruptly, cutting him off mid-sentence to sweep him into a hug so tight he was lifted off the ground.

“It’s so nice for someone to actually appreciate my cooking around here again.”

“Aw, Mamá…” Luis patted the arm wrapped tightly around Lance’s back. “We love your cooking.”

“Well, I don’t hear…”

The conversation trailed off in Lance’s ears. He didn’t really care about any of what they were talking about anymore. All he cared about was being in his mom’s arms again.

He was _home._

* * *

Keith wrapped his blankets tight around himself. He knew he needed to get out of bed. If he didn’t, and Shiro’s parents came in for whatever reason, he’d get in trouble.

But he heard movement in the kitchen, and if he left his room to get breakfast, he’d get in trouble, too. For what, he didn’t know, but Shiro’s parents always found a way to lecture him, to take something away, to restrict what little freedom he had even further.

He couldn’t move. Even if, logically, he knew the best option he had was to get out of bed and just...sit around in his room for a while, wait for the kitchen to empty, and then sneak in to grab breakfast or, most likely by that point, lunch. But Keith...couldn’t _move._

So he pulled his blankets up to his ears, and he took a slow breath, and he tried to get his heart to stop beating so fast.

He looked at the glass balcony door past his feet, and he tried to pretend he could see frost on the glass.

* * *

Lance groaned as his mother laid a block of wood on the table in front of him. “Nobody even wears masks anymore!”

“Of course they do,” said Veronica. “You just haven’t seen any because you’re a first-year.”

“How would you know?” said Lance. “You go to school in Daibazaal now.”

“So, what, my first four years at the Garrison just evaporated?”

“Children,” sighed Lance’s mother. “Veronica, there’s no reason to get defensive. Lance, you should know by now that it’s a tradition for second years and above—”

“—to wear a mask on the first night of the year. It’s supposed to be so students can shed their preconceived notions about each other and start fresh so they can make new friends. Yes, Mamá, I know.” Lance shoved the slab of wood away. “But I’ve never actually _seen_ anyone wear a mask. Are you sure it’s still a thing?”

“Well, there were always _some_ people who didn’t wear masks,” admitted Veronica. “But you’re definitely going to. I still have my fox mask, even if Daibazaal doesn’t have the same traditions. It’s a nice memory.”

Lance crossed his arms. “Why can’t I just wear a Halloween mask or something? Why do I have to _make_ it? I’m gonna get blisters all over my hands or something!”

“You didn’t complain when you got blisters from your guitar,” chided his mother as she turned away to start the dishes.

“That was different,” huffed Lance. “I won’t have to carry all my wrong notes around on my face once a year for the next five years. I can’t even _draw._ It’s gonna look all off-balance and one eye’s gonna be bigger than the other!”

“Is Lance making his mask?”

Lance looked over his shoulder and found Rachel in the doorway, a huge grin on her face.

“He is,” said Lance’s mother. “Whether he likes it or not.”

“Why don’t you want to make one?” Rachel drew closer and looked over Lance’s shoulder at the block of wood on the table. “I was always so jealous of Luis and Veronica for theirs.”

“He thinks he’s going to mess it up and have to live with the consequences for the rest of his academic life,” explained Veronica.

“Then let me help you! Scoot over.”

Lance frowned and inched closer to the edge of his kitchen chair, giving Rachel half. “How do _you_ know how to make a mask? You can’t even control your quintessence.”

“I can still draw,” said Rachel. “And I can help you keep things symmetrical. Pop’s helping you with the jigsaw, right? So let me help with the design.”

“Well, don’t help him too much,” chided Lance’s mother. “It’s still something he needs to take pride in himself.”

“Yes, Mamá,” chimed Rachel. “So, Lance, what were you thinking for the design? An animal? Something spooky? What?”

Lance screwed up his face into a thoughtful frown and leaned back, a hand on his chin.

Well...if he _had_ to make a mask, and if Rachel was going to help him…

Yeah. He knew what his mask was going to be.

* * *

“It was just _cheese!_ And there was _mold_ on it!”

“There was not. We’d just gotten it from the store. It was new.”

“No, it _wasn’t!_ ” Keith’s voice cracked. “It was almost gone, there were two slices left, and there was _mold._ ”

“Don’t play this game with me,” said Shiro’s father coolly. “You wasted money.”

“No one was going to eat the moldy cheese!” Keith felt tears prickling at his eyes. It was a stupid thing to get upset about. He knew that. It was a stupid thing to _fight_ over. But— “I was just trying to keep the refrigerator clean! Why would I throw away fresh cheese?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Shiro’s father.

Without another word, he closed Keith’s bedroom door, leaving him alone inside.

Keith felt like screaming. The tears that had been prickling in his eyes rolled down his cheeks.

Stupid thing to cry over. _Stupid_ thing to cry over. He hadn’t even gotten _punished._ It was just a lecture. But it was a lecture for no reason, over something stupid, and he didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand why Shiro’s parents had adopted him if they were just going to decide they didn’t like him for no reason. He didn’t understand why everything that went wrong seemed to be his fault. He didn’t understand what he was supposed to do when he saw _moldy food_ in the _refrigerator_ anymore.

Leave it in, he supposed.

“ _Fuck,_ ” hissed Keith, and a tiny spit of flame sprung from between his lips and teeth. He slammed the book he’d been reading shut and left it on his desk. He wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on the story any longer anyway.

* * *

Lance hopped up and down on the balls of his feet, watching his father cut out the shape he and Rachel had drawn together. Rachel’s idea of drawing just half the shape, then tracing it onto another piece of paper and blackening the back to turn it into a carbon copy had worked wonders. Or, at least, it had on a flat plane. Lance was worried about how it would look once the edges were cut out.

A large clump of wood fell off from the block, and Lance’s father raised his saw. The motor stopped immediately, and with a dusty hand, his father swept away the last of the sawdust on the block before handing it back to Lance.

Lance cried out with happiness and held the block to his face, lining the bottom edge of it with his upper lip. He couldn’t see through the eyes yet, of course, but—

“You really changed your tune, didn’t you?” his father asked, half-laughing.

Lance lowered his mask-in-progress from his face. “Well, I’m not excited about wearing it in _public,_ ” he admitted. “But _making one?_ ”

He looked down at the shape in his hands and smiled.

“Yeah, making one is pretty cool so far.”

The mask looked back at Lance from its round sketch eyes, and Lance’s smile widened.

It was already starting to look like a lion.

* * *

Keith winced at the hot ceramic surface of the plate in his hand, straight out of the dishwasher and still steaming.

With shaking hands, he brought the plate up to its place in the cabinet and slid it in.

Beside him, Shiro’s mother scrubbed the surface of the stove.

Keith swallowed and reached for another hot plate.

How was it that he could control fire, and yet a freshly clean dish was too much for him to handle?

He looked through the corner of his eye at the woman standing innocently at her stove, and the breath he sucked in trembled on the way down.

She wasn’t even _doing_ anything. Just _cleaning._

Why was Keith so scared?

He raised his plate to the shelf with the one before it. His hands shook, and part of that was from the heat, but he knew that wasn’t all of it.

The plate slid into place without incident.

He grabbed another.

Without warning, Shiro’s mother whipped around, and Keith’s heart went cold, and—

**_CRASH_ **

The broken pieces of the plate that had been in Keith’s hands just a moment before laid on the floor like a flower with all its petals torn from its stem.

He swallowed. He couldn’t even look at Shiro’s mother. It wasn’t the good china she wouldn’t let him touch, but he still...

Shiro’s mother loosed a harsh, heated sigh.

“Go,” she said coldly. “Just go.”

This time, Keith didn’t argue.

* * *

“Okay. Make sure you’ve got your fingers out of the way.”

“Got it.”

“And don’t chisel anything you want to keep. Remember, you can always take away more wood. You can’t bring it back.”

“Right.”

“And you’re going to want to hit hard, but not _too_ hard, or you’ll push the chisel too far down.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay._ And... _go._ ”

Lance positioned his chisel and struck it with the side of his mallet. A little of the wood splintered off the mask.

He did it again and again until he reached the end, where the eye was, and the whole shaving came off clean.

Lance laughed. “Cool.”

“ _Cool,_ ” agreed Luis. He clapped a hand on Lance’s back. “Okay, only about 200 more of those to go. Think you can handle the rest on your own?”

“I think so,” said Lance.

“All right, good.” Luis took a step back. “I’m gonna go over here and practice my big boy magic now. Call out if you need me.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Lance, but he was already positioning his chisel, all too eager to chip off the next strip of wood. “You got it.”

* * *

**_BANG BANG BANG_ **

Keith flinched, and his book fell from his hands straight onto the floor. He swallowed, and his bedroom door still rattled from the power behind the knock.

“Y...Yeah?” he called, heart pounding, hands shaking, book lying forgotten on the floor.

He heard footsteps retreating from the door in place of an answer, and he took a shuddering breath.

_Okay…_ He bent down to grab the book that had slipped from his hands. _I...guess that means dinner’s ready._

* * *

Lance ran his sandpaper down the outer edge of his sculpture, from bottom to top, and Veronica stopped him.

“Here,” she said gently. “Let me show you.”

“I know how to do it!” protested Lance.

“No, you don’t,” laughed Veronica, and she took both Lance’s mask and his sandpaper by force.

“Wh— _Hey!_ ”

“You have to _polish_ it,” said Veronica. “You can’t just scrape it along the side. Think of it like every rough edge is something dirty you’re trying to clean off the mask. See?” She demonstrated, folding the sandpaper into quarters and scrubbing the lion’s forehead.

Lance leaned in close and watched as the lines and stripes left from his chiseling were buffed out.

“Okay, okay, I get it! I can do it now!”

Lance reached across Veronica’s lap and stole his mask back, sandpaper included, so he could work on it by himself.

“All right, Mr. Busy Bee, I get it.” Veronica held up her hands in surrender. “Man, you haven’t put that down since Pop cut out the outline. Don’t you get tired?”

“I’ve put it down!” said Lance. “I just… You were gonna mess it up!”

Veronica chuckled. “Right.” And she leaned in close, eyes on his hands. “We haven’t really gotten a chance to catch up, though, with you working on this all the time.” 

Lance slowed down his sanding, just so he could hear Veronica a little better over the sound.

“You mentioned having a friend, right?”

“Yeah, Hunk,” said Lance. “He’s my roommate. We were both late for orientation and hit it off on the way in.”

“Of course you’d be late for orientation.” Veronica roughly tousled Lance’s hair, closer to a noogie than just hair tousling.

Lance pushed her hand off. “What about you? Have you made any friends?”

Veronica went quiet and turned her face away. “...One. Just one. She’s, um… She’s my Black Knight.”

Lance lifted his head. “ _Really?!_ ”

“Lance—”

“You actually got your Black Knight to _talk to you?_ ”

“ _Shh—_ ”

“I thought they were supposed to be all private and serious and—”

Veronica clapped a hand over Lance’s mouth.

“They are,” she said, her voice quiet, but urgent. “I was supposed to _protect_ Acxa, not make _friends_ with her. If anyone finds out we got close, I’ll be swapped with one of the other defenders, and I do _not_ want to wind up _Lotor’s_ defender. He gives me the creeps. So can you just…” Veronica lowered her hand from Lance’s mouth. “Can you just keep this between us for now?”

Lance looked over the back of the couch, down the hall, in the corners of the living room, and leaned in close, just to nod.

Veronica smiled, sincere gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks, Lance.”

* * *

Shiro was forced to reach around Keith’s shoulders to be able to read his book, but he didn’t seem to mind. He never complained, at least. He just shifted his body to be able to turn the pages.

Keith closed his eyes. There was one place in the whole house where he actually felt safe, actually felt like he was worth something, and it was right where he was, with Shiro.

A low hum reached between them, and Shiro transferred his book to one hand to answer the phone in his pocket.

He took one look at the screen and sighed.

“Adam?” asked Keith.

Shiro laughed, quiet and low in his chest. “Not today.” He tapped out an answer with his thumb. “Matt’s been worried.”

“Worried?” asked Keith.

Shiro set his phone aside, face-down on his bed. “Well, after spending a night here, he knows what Mom and Dad are like, and he’s concerned about us being home all the time.”

“Mm…” Privately, Keith agreed that Matt had the right to be worried, but he held his tongue, positive Shiro wouldn’t agree.

Shiro set his book down with his phone and pet Keith’s hair. “...They’ve really been rough on you, haven’t they?”

Keith flinched, and there was no way Shiro didn’t feel him when Keith was pressed into his side.

“You know,” murmured Shiro, “sometimes, they get to me, too.”

“...How?” Keith lifted his head. “You always seem so...level-headed. I feel like I’m constantly about to burst into tears or punch a wall or...something.”

Shiro smiled, and if Keith didn’t know him as well as he did, he might have missed how bitter that smile was. “I just try to avoid them. I stay in my room. Only do chores when they specifically ask for it. Only practice my magic when they’re not home unless I feel like I can get away with it, like when Matt came over to study.”

“But they get mad if you don’t do chores or practice,” said Keith.

“They get mad if you do, too,” said Shiro. “Every time you do. ‘Don’t touch that,’ ‘You call that clean?’ ‘Why did you only do half the job?’” He sighed. “But if you just don’t do anything, they don’t think about the fact that you haven’t cleaned anything in a while, and they leave you alone. Mostly. Until it hits them. And they’ll chide you a little, but you can just ignore those lectures, and they’ll go on not noticing.”

“Seriously?” Keith dropped his head back onto Shiro’s shoulder. “That’s so stupid.”

“Tell me about it,” huffed Shiro, amusement clear in his voice. “But...you’ll figure it out. You just have to take a deep breath, keep calm, and...figure out what the best thing to do in any given situation is.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” asked Keith.

Shiro dragged his fingers through Keith’s hair, and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively.

“Patience,” he said, “yields focus.”

* * *

Lance raised his paintbrush from the wood of his mask and frowned. For some reason, he’d been able to make the form of the mask symmetrical without much of a problem, but he’d struggled to do the same with the colors. The dark blue gradient into the light blue under the eyes seemed impossible to match on both sides. He’d correct one side, then find he overcorrected and had to correct the other side as well.

He scowled at the mask that sat innocently on his newspaper and stood up to wash his paintbrush. He could feel himself on the verge of giving up and he didn’t want to ruin Marco’s things in the process.

He turned on the kitchen faucet and shoved his paintbrush under the running water, quickly scrubbing away the acrylic paint gluing its bristles together, for once not caring how it left his hands.

“Done?” asked Marco without looking up from the model he’d been putting together on the same table where Lance had been.

“ _No,_ ” grumbled Lance. “Does it _look_ done?”

This time, Marco looked up, and he smirked. “Can’t get it to look the same on both sides, huh?”

Lance pursed his lips and his face ran hot.

“And here I thought you strum magic types were supposed to be versatile.” Marco clicked his tongue.

“So what if I’m _versatile?_ ” asked Lance. “How’s that supposed to make both sides look the same?”

“It’s not,” said Marco, turning his eyes back to his figure.

“Then why would...?!”

Lance trailed off.

He looked at the mask he left lying on the table.

All of a sudden, it looked completely different. Less like failure, more like an opportunity.

Lance’s eyes widened, and he quickly grabbed a paper towel to dry his paintbrush on.

He had a mask to finish.

* * *

Shiro’s father opened Keith’s door without knocking, and he closed it behind him.

Keith took a deep breath through his nose, set his book aside, and sat up, waiting.

“Listen,” said Shiro’s father. “My wife and I accepted you into his house through the goodness of our hearts. We didn’t have to do that. Is that clear?”

“Yes…” Keith gripped the edge of his mattress.

“And we expect certain things done,” said Shiro’s father. “It doesn’t have to be much. Do some dishes. Vacuum. Dust the shelves in the living room. If you see something that needs to be done, do it. We expect you to pull your weight. Do you understand?”

Keith squeezed fistfuls of his blankets at either side.

_Are you kidding me?!_ every part of his brain screamed. _I tried that! You got mad at me for it!_

But those screams didn’t find their way to his mouth.

Instead, Keith took a deep breath through his nose, relaxed his grip on his blankets, and looked Shiro’s father in the eye.

_Patience yields focus…_

“I understand,” said Keith.

Shiro’s father nodded, just once, satisfied, and turned away. “Good. Well. Dinner’s ready.”

He opened the door again, stepped through, and closed it behind himself, leaving Keith alone.

And Keith fell back against his mattress with a sigh of relief.

“Nothing in this stupid house makes sense,” he grumbled.

Except for Shiro, he supposed. At least that conversation proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could definitely trust Shiro.

Keith turned toward his balcony door.

The sun was out.

Spring had arrived. Soon, school would start again. And maybe, just maybe, when it did, Keith would have one more person he could trust.

* * *

Lance held his mask up to the window and grinned at the sunlight gleaming through the eyeholes.

Some might have said he’d gone overboard, and he didn’t care. His creation was something that could never be replicated.

Blue splotched in varying shades, blending seamlessly from one color to the next. Some spots were more indigo, some more teal. Great, white teeth stretched far past the bottom of the mask, where his own mouth would go where the lion’s jaw would be, if the mask had been a full face. If one looked hard enough, they might have found the tiniest flecks of red and green and yellow spotted all over the field of blue, like freckles, or like stars. Black outlined the lion’s eyes and filled in its nose and faded into the edges of the face, but it wasn’t particularly even, and Lance liked it like that.

The mask was his, and it was wild, and it was so far from realistic, and Lance was _proud_ of it.

“It looks wonderful,” said his mother, leaning over Lance’s shoulder to look at the mask from his perspective. “But I don’t think it’s done just yet.”

Lance turned his head to look at her. “You don’t?”

“No,” said his mother. “Not quite. I think it needs…”

She held out her hand.

“...these.”

Lance looked at what she held, and he was confused at first. It looked like someone had broken a glass ping pong ball in half. Two little concave disks sat in his mother’s palm, yellow and transparent and round and shining.

And slowly, _very_ slowly, Lance realized what they were.

“Eyes?”

“That’s right,” said his mother. “I know I said I wanted you to make your mask entirely on your own, but I thought, if I provided the wood, I could provide these as well.”

Lance took the two lenses in his hand and held them reverently, afraid of dropping them.

“You’ll need to file the insides of the eyes to make them fit properly,” said his mother. “But once you do, they should stick nicely with a little super glue. I hope I guessed the color right. You did want your mask to be like the Blue Lion, didn’t you? I got as close to the eyes of the Lion at the station as I possibly could.”

Lance lifted his head, and he grinned, and he pulled his mother into as tight of a hug as he could.

She laughed and patted his back. “You’ll look beautiful, Lance. Make a good new friend this year, okay?”

“I will,” said Lance. “And I’ll tell you all about them in my letters.”

His mother leaned back and kissed his forehead. “I know you will.”

With her thumb, she wiped off a bit of dirt Lance doubted was really there, and with one last pat to his shoulder, she let go, and she walked through the doorway into the living room.

Lance held his mask up to the window again, and this time, he raised one of the eyes up with it, grinning at the way the sun changed colors through its glass.

It was already spring. Technically. March 23rd _was_ spring. It just didn’t feel like it. Snow still covered the grass in Lance’s front yard, and though Lance could look through the window at it, he didn’t dare open that same window for fear of his mother rushing back in to scold him for letting all the hot air out.

But break would be over soon. He’d be on the train back to Altea in two days. And just like the year before, he was excited.

To see Hunk. To show off the mask he made. To make that new friend he told his mother he’d make.

And there was something else. Something that rushed under his skin and made his blood feel like raw electricity dancing across his bones.

He had the feeling something would happen that year. Something big. Something _exciting._

And _god,_ Lance was _so ready._

_"Something's arriving..."_

Lance walked to his kitchen table and lowered himself into the same chair he’d spent most of his winter break in.

_"Something's arriving on laughter and smiles and tears…_ ”

He turned his mask over, nose down, and set both of the eyes in their place before turning it back around, thumbs holding the glass in place. His mother was right, he’d need to sand the eye sockets down to make the lenses fit without wobbling around or looking strange, but it already looked so neat just to see _eyes_ on his creation.

He drummed his fingers across the red speckles on the lion’s forehead, heart pounding with excitement in his chest.

_“Something like you…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2-4-10 // 4-3-2 // 4-1-12 // 4-2-3 // 6-1-16  
> 3-1-10 // 4-3-21 // 4-3-33 // 4-2-5 // 5-4-11  
> 1-3-13 // 3-1-22 // 3-3-28 // 2-4-12 // 5-1-6
> 
> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en)   
>  [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)


	8. Runaway Bride

Lance grumbled and fumbled and glared at his own reflection in the mirror. It was blue, like his mask. And he liked it. Problem was, last time he checked, he knew how to tie a tie, and _suddenly_ it was the hardest thing in the world.

"Did I drop into some alternate reality where ties are harder to tie? What is this?"

Hunk, who had only just stopped crying about how happy he was to see Lance again maybe an hour before, appeared over his shoulder in the mirror and tapped on his arm, convincing Lance to turn around.

Lance did, and Hunk tugged his tie to a length that seemed easier to work with before tying his tie for him as easily as if he could do it in his sleep.

"Where did you learn how to do this?" asked Lance.

"Lots of formal events with my parents," said Hunk. "Kind of becomes like tying your shoes after a while."

Right... Lance had been thinking of Hunk as just his friend for so long that he'd forgotten Hunk's family was kind of a big deal.

A whole line of Apprentices, a line Hunk himself had just joined.

**_The Garretts._** All bold, in italics, underlined. Like **_The Shiroganes_** or **_The del Alteas._** Practically royalty. Literally royalty in some cases.

But Hunk wasn't like that, was he? He didn't care about family titles. And he never cared that Lance was just a McClain. No bold, no italics, no underline.

Lance wondered if Kogane was like that. Whether he thought of himself as a Shirogane or still saw himself as the orphan they adopted.

...Nah. Probably the former, right? The guy was smug enough.

"So, are we splitting up?" asked Lance, quickly distracting himself from the thoughts in his brain.

"Uhh..." Hunk lifted his eyes from Lance's tie, wariness in his own. "'Splitting up'?"

"Yeah," said Lance. "You know, splitting up. Because, like, alone, we might get away with people not recognizing us, but _together..._ "

Hunk dropped Lance's tie, knot complete, and tensed his shoulders up to his ears.

"I— I mean— There's no guarantee people aren't going to recognize us anyway, right? And like, it's been so long since the last time I saw you, and we're not going to get to spend much time together anyway because I'm going to be privately tutored and..."

Hunk's voice, which had been growing quieter and quieter since he started protesting, reached a point where Lance could no longer make out what he was saying, and Lance, who loved the _hell_ out of Hunk, rolled his eyes.

"Buddy, this is the one day of the year everyone's going to judge you just for being you. Not for being a Garrett, not for being an apprentice, just for your personality, which is ten out of ten every time." Lance punched Hunk's arm playfully. "I'm going to be your friend forever. Seriously. And if anyone thinks they're going to steal the title of _best friend_ away from me, they can meet me in the square and duel me for my fair pal's hand." Lance turned and draped an arm across Hunk's shoulders. "But you still deserve to have more friends than just me, and tonight's your best shot. I don't want you to go through the whole year with only me again. I mean, what if something goes wrong in training and a spear of ice starts flying across the room at a pretty girl and I _dashingly_ come to her rescue and get stabbed in the chest?"

Hunk raised his head and looked at Lance, unimpressed. "You've been daydreaming about that for a while, haven't you?"

"I wake up in the hospital three days later with Plaxum holding my hand, fast asleep with tears clinging to her eyelashes."

Hunk snorted. Lance knew him well enough to know he was still anxious, but he was also smiling, and that was a start.

"I guess we could both use more friends, huh?"

"At least more of a chance." Lance raised his hand to ruffle Hunk's hair, only to stop short when he realized he didn't want to mess it up before the dance. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll still be waiting for you in our room when we're done."

Hunk looked into Lance's eyes. Deep into them. His lip quivered, and for a moment, Lance thought he was going to start crying again.

But, instead, he just wrapped his arms tight around Lance's middle and hugged him with so much force he pulled Lance's feet off the ground.

"Okay," said Hunk. "But you owe me a _massive_ hug when we get back."

Lance grinned. "You got it, buddy."

* * *

Keith felt like he was going to explode.

He also felt _ridiculous._

He would have felt worse in a mask, but with his hair slicked back, he felt like he must have been just as unrecognizable. And the idea that maybe the boy who brought his knife back to him would see Keith like that fried his nerves, yes, but how ridiculous he felt with his bangs glued to the crown of his head wasn't even comparable to how silly he felt for caring about something like that.

For waiting for that guy all winter. For hoping he'd show up at Keith's window at any moment just to introduce himself and make Keith's life better for a day.

Keith had no clue who that guy was, why he'd done so much for Keith, what his motives were, why he cared...

But Keith wanted to believe he was a good person. Maybe someone who could...

And, god, that was part of it, too. Keith didn't even know exactly what he _wanted_ from this guy, and yet—

And yet.

And yet, Keith found himself wandering away from Shiro and Adam the first chance he got, leaving them to fake a romantic evening in public while he searched a sea of masks for someone he wouldn't recognize even if the mask was _off._

But maybe that was part of the reason Keith's heart was pounding so hard.

If the first two times that boy had shown himself to Keith were times he hid his face...what better time to show up a third time than at a masquerade ball?

Especially if Shiro was right, and the boy in the yellow hoodie had just been away for winter break. And Shiro was probably right. Shiro was _always_ right.

Or, well...

Keith stole a glance across the crowded ballroom, where he danced stiffly with Adam.

... _Usually,_ Shiro was right.

"Keith!"

Keith's heart swelled, and for a split second, some part of him thought it was _him_ who had called out. But no, that voice was too familiar.

"Hey, Matt," greeted Keith, crossing his arms.

"Hey, pipsqueak," teased Matt, all cheerful, toothy grins, as usual. "Man, you look terrible."

"Yeah." Keith ran a hand over his head. "Shiroganes' orders."

"Gross," said Matt, still smiling, though a few fewer teeth were showing. "Well, they're not here now. Want me to help you wash it out in the bathroom sink?"

Keith felt his shoulders sink like stones. Shiro's parents would probably notice, but the risk was worth it. "Please."

Matt's smile brightened. "Cool."

Without missing a beat, he reached into the pocket beneath the black-and-violet cloak he'd chosen to wear to the event, and he pulled out his phone. Keith didn't even see him enter a number before he raised the phone to his ear.

" _Good_ evening, Te-Osh," greeted Matt in a sing-songy tone, free hand pressed to his ear to drown out the mirthful sounds of the gathering around them. "Listen, weird question, but you're still kicking it in the dorms, right? Do you have any shampoo—?" He winced. "Oh, wait. Duh. Kythran. Pinnas. Sorry, I— ...Yeah? Could you ask her? Fantastic. Oh, could you also bring—? Yes! Okay. Meet me by the bathrooms in Grenadier Hall. You're a lifesaver."

Matt hung up his phone, flashed Keith a smile, and took him by the arm. "Come on."

He led Keith out of the ballroom and into the corridors, where sound was replaced by echoes of silence and grounded reality felt replaced by a hazy unreality.

Not living in the dorms, Keith had never walked through the Garrison after sundown. It felt like stepping across some massive gap and into another world, as if the planet he knew had somehow split again, the same way it had when the comet had been torn apart in legend, and he'd been transported from the Altea he knew to the Daibazaalian parallel.

He clutched his chest as he trusted Matt to drag him along, to safely bring him to wherever it was they were going, knowing Matt wouldn't steer him wrong.

At the end of a dimly-lit, mint-green hallway stood two figures, both of them wearing masks. One, the taller of the two, wore a flamingo mask, complete with pink wings jutting out on either side. The other wore a silvery horse mask that caught the light with a glittery shimmer and didn't quite hide the pointed, furry ears behind the curved, shining ones.

"Hey," greeted Matt, out of breath from running or relief, Keith wasn't sure. "Thanks for showing up on short notice like this."

"No problem," said the flamingo. "We hadn't even left yet. It was just a matter of grabbing the shampoo and the dryer on the way out."

She held up her hand, and for the first time, Keith noticed the hairdryer she held.

"Wow, no wonder you needed help." The horse-person lowered herself to a crouch in front of Keith, furry legs showing through the slits in the sides of her dress. "You're a ruggling mess, kid."

"Language," chided Matt, though any stern tone that might have been there was heeled by levity. "Do you guys mind if I introduce you? Or is that a secret once the masks are on?"

Both of the masked figures looked at each other and shrugged before the flamingo spoke. "I think it's fine."

"Okay. Keith, this is Te-Osh, the Green Guardian. Ay-Kay-Ay the person I'm supposed to run screaming to if I'm ever in a life-threatening situation. If shhhh... _stuff_ ever starts happening and we need Voltron, Te-Osh is supposed to keep me alive until I get to my Lion."

"You can say 'shit'," said Keith. "I'm not nine."

"Nope." Matt clapped his hands on either of Keith's shoulders. "Shiro's not here, and that means I have to pretend to be responsible in front of you. _And this_ is Olia, Te-Osh's roommate. She's an Upper-Sixth Year, and yes, I do know why they don't just call that a Seventh Year, but now isn't the time to go into the ancient founders' weird choices. We have to get your hair all fixed before your definitely-not-crush sees what looks like a shiny hair-helmet on your head."

Keith felt his ears start to burn and suddenly regretted his choice not to wear a mask. " _I don't—!_ "

"Oh, of _course_ not," teased Matt. "That's definitely not why you're worried about how your hair looks for the first time in your life. Definitely."

"Well, we wouldn't want to postpone a romantic evening," said Te-Osh, her smile audible through her mask. She handed Matt the hairdryer and patted Keith on the shoulder as she passed by. "Go get 'em, tiger. We're rooting for you."

* * *

Hunk wound up clinging to the snack table.

He wished he could have said he hadn't, that he tried to make friends the way Lance encouraged him to, but he took one look at the crowd and his elephant mask suddenly seemed less than sufficient for him to hide behind. And his solution was to pick a corner and start shoving chocolate-covered pretzels under that mask.

And jalapeno poppers.

And chips.

And crudites.

And those little sausages with the toothpicks sticking out of them.

He ate nervously, frantically, until he reached his end goal of focusing enough on the next piece of whatever was going into his mouth until the party was over and he didn't have to think about it, or until he had to throw up and had an excuse to run out, or until—

**_fwump_ **

Until he bumped into someone because he wasn't paying enough attention.

"Oh, geez—" Hunk took a step back, hands held up defensively. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry."

The stranger wore a lion mask. But it wasn't at all like Lance's. The design wasn't based on a Lion of Voltron. More like a Ming-era guardian lion, with its bared teeth and furrowed brow and flaring nostrils.

So... _That_ wasn't intimidating at all. Not like those statues were designed to ward off enemies both natural and supernatural or anything. No, not at all.

"Oh, _geez,_ okay, I..." Hunk straightened the blazer the other boy wore, afraid he might have rumpled it. "I'm sorry, I was just...distracted."

"Hmh." The lion-masked boy took a can of soda from the large tub of ice between two tables and cracked it open.

Hunk waited until he'd fully retracted his hand before grabbing a drink of his own and doing the same.

The other boy didn't move away, and Hunk felt awkward enough that he didn't want to move either, so, abruptly, he stopped stress eating.

He started to take a drink from his can, but when he brought it to his mouth, he realized if he wanted to actually tilt the can, he'd have to shove his mask up, over his eyes, blinding himself. And he didn't really want to do that.

Rather than wishing he'd gone with a half-mask like Lance, however, Hunk noticed the straws offered beside the tub of sodas, and he grabbed himself one.

Or, well...two. Whoops. Hunk was nervous enough that his motor skills weren't quite up to snuff. But, hey, that was fine. He could play it off by... Uh...

"Want one?"

Hunk, hand quivering, held out one of the straws to his neighbor in the lion mask.

The dark eyes in the eye holes flicked down to the straw, and, to Hunk's surprise, the stranger took one.

"Thanks," said the stranger.

And Hunk, despite knowing his face wasn't visible—maybe because of that—smiled.

Okay! So that went better than he thought it would! Probably because Lance was right. No one knew who he was without his mask. No one was about to push him off a cliff for being the Yellow Apprentice, or for being his sister's brother, or his parents' son, or his grandparents' grandson. He was just a guy. Getting some snacks. And the guy in the guardian lion mask was just a guy in a mask, like everyone else. He was probably just an introvert and tired of being in a crowded room or something.

A little like Hunk, probably.

The other boy put the straw in his drink, slipped it under his mask, and turned around to look at the crowd, one hand in his trouser pocket.

Hunk followed his lead, taking a sip under his own mask.

The other boy lowered his can.

So did Hunk.

"So." Hunk smacked his lips. "Some party, huh?"

The other boy stole a glance at him through the corners of his eyes, the only part of his face that was visible.

Without turning his head even a degree, his gaze returned to the party.

"Mh," he replied.

"Yeah," said Hunk. "Same."

The boy took another sip of his drink.

So did Hunk.

* * *

The music swelled, the people danced, and all Lance did was tap his toes.

If someone were to ask why, he wasn't sure he'd have an answer. Maybe it was because Hunk wasn't there and, deep down, Lance really wanted him to be. Maybe it was that most of the girls were wearing masks and Lance couldn't tell which ones were cute, so he didn't bother asking them to dance. Maybe it was that the introduction of his own mask made him feel more sincere, like he had no reason to play his personality up, and the end result was simply that Lance felt a little shy. Maybe it was a bit of everything.

Or maybe it was what his mask meant.

_New friends._

Lance ran his fingers over his lion's cheek, and the purple ribbon tied at the back of his head pressed into his hair.

Would a mask really make a difference? Were there people out there in the crowd that would have gladly made friends with the real him if they hadn't gotten a skewed perception from his constant flow of detentions and trouble-making?

What was the difference?

Lance growled and tugged at the bottom of his mask, where teeth stuck out to frame his mouth. He was wasting a _party._ Maybe it would be better to just pull it off and go find Hunk.

Lance sighed and pushed at the bottom of his mask, but before he could slide it off, he heard a sound. A voice.

" _Hey!_ "

Lance turned around, scanning the crowd through the lenses that stained the world in gold. Whoever that was sounded angry. Angry and scared. No one else seemed to notice, but a sound like that was never a good sign.

A sharp, sudden movement caught Lance's eye, and in a corner near the door, he watched a short girl in a gray bird mask fall to the floor.

No… She didn’t _fall_. She was _pushed_.

The girl pulled herself to her hands and knees, blue dress trapped beneath her own weight, teeth bared at the girl who loomed over her.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Agree to change your clothes and perhaps I will."

Lance felt his jaw drop. He'd never seen such blatant bullying in his life. It looked like something straight out of an old after-school special. He couldn't believe people like that actually existed. And what was more, he seemed to be the only one to notice.

Or...no. Some of the students were edging away from the conflict. They noticed. They just didn't care.

Well... Maybe they didn't, but Lance did.

"Don't you guys have anything better to do?"

Neither of the girls looked at him, but, well, Lance was used to that kind of attention, to tell the truth. He just had to try again.

He resisted the urge to roll up his sleeves like a character from an old-timey cartoon as he marched closer. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

This time, the aggressor turned toward him, her long, red hair whipping over her shoulder.

"Yeah, you!" Lance treaded ever closer until he stood between her and the girl on the floor. "What's your problem?"

The girl on her feet tilted her head back, and for the first time, Lance noticed pointed ears peeking out from the sides of her green-and-pink butterfly mask. An Altean, huh. Not that it mattered. A creep was a creep.

"What's yours?" she asked, and sure enough, her accent _was_ Altean. "I don't remember inviting you to weigh in on this debate.”

"Well _I_ don't remember asking _you_ to pick on some innocent girl!" retaliated Lance. "Like, who— Who even does that? What's _wrong_ with you?"

" _That,_ " huffed the redhead regally, "is _not_ a _girl._ If you didn’t come barging in on a discussion you have no context for, perhaps you’d understand that. What you see cowering on the floor behind you is a little boy in a dress making a mockery of women."

Lance squinted at the redhead. Okay, fair enough. He _was_ confused. And he probably could have used a little more context. But if he was going to get context, he needed it from more than one source.

"Hey." Lance turned away from the redhead and bent down to the person on the floor, offering his hand. " _Are_ you a girl?"

The redhead behind him clicked her tongue irritably.

The person in the blue dress, however, just eyed his hand uncertainly. Or they seemed to, head too low to meet his eyes. Lance _supposed_ that meant they were looking at his hand. "Yeah...?"

"Okay, cool." Lance offered his hand more insistently. "Not that you being a boy in a dress would make a difference. I'm on your side either way. The pushing wasn’t cool. I just wanted to make sure."

That, somehow, seemed to comfort the girl, and she took Lance's hand without any further hesitation.

He helped her to her feet, brushed off her skirt, and with a grin, Lance turned around and threw a thumb over his shoulder. "She says she's a girl."

The redhead didn’t reply right away, and Lance assumed that meant she was rendered speechless.

But no.

**_CRACK_ **

She was just gearing up a slap hard enough for Lance to feel through his mask.

* * *

Keith shook his hair out and looked at himself in the mirror. Even after using the blow dryer, it was still a little damp, but it smelled like juniberries, and it looked a hell of a lot better than the shiny, obsidian sphere he'd been sporting when he arrived.

It _was_ fluffy, though. Keith wasn't sure if he liked that or not.

"How's your back?"

"Not bad, considering I spent the past ten minutes bent over a sink in a public bathroom." Keith turned to face Matt, who hadn't stopped grinning once. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Matt, his smile turning satisfied as he rolled up the rest of the blow dryer cord. "You were sorely in need of a rescue."

Keith looked at himself in the mirror again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Even if the boy of your dreams doesn't say anything, he'll probably still see you, and you look _very pretty._ " Matt tucked the end of the cord under the loops to secure it. His voice was teasing, but he'd been teasing Keith the whole time, and Keith had grown numb to it. He knew, underneath the insistence that he was Keith's second older brother, Matt was just trying to be supportive, and even if he was doing it in the most embarrassing way possible, it was still a comfort, in some strange way.

"You think?" Keith felt himself ask.

"He's got to be a student, right?"

"No, I mean..." Keith lowered his hand to the edge of the sink and curled his fingers into the porcelain. "Do you really think he won't say anything?"

"Aww, you're so _worried..._ " Keith was so distracted by the endeared smile he saw in the mirror that it didn't occur to him that Matt was approaching until he was trapped in a warm hug. "Don't feel too bad if he doesn't talk to you. He could be as nervous as you are. But if he doesn't talk to you tonight, he still might later."

"...What if he _does_ talk to me?"

Keith watched himself pale, and he felt Matt's arms wrap tighter around him to compensate.

"You're as bad as I was when I had my first crush."

Keith wondered, briefly, who Matt's first crush was, but when he saw Matt's smile finally fade, replaced by some sort of a wistful-yet-somber sort of look, Keith had a feeling he had his answer.

"You know..." Keith reached up and set a hand on Matt's arm. "If you asked Shiro to dance with you, he'd probably say yes."

Matt's eyes flew wide open, and he looked at Keith. Not at his reflection, but the real him.

He laughed nervously and shook his head. "Nah. I mean— I wouldn't want to get on Adam's bad side. You know how he gets."

Keith _did_ know how Adam got, which was exactly why he made the suggestion. But if Matt didn't want to rock the boat, Keith couldn't blame him.

Adam and Shiro would surely reach their limit eventually, and when they did, Matt could swoop right in then, couldn't he?

"Come on." Matt released Keith and patted his shoulder before grabbing Olia's shampoo off the edge of the sink. "We've got a party to get back to."

Keith followed Matt back to the ballroom, stopping only briefly to drop off the shampoo and the hairdryer, and when they opened the double-doors—

**_BANG_ **

Keith watched a girl in a red dress hit the floor right in front of him. She nursed her cheek, and from the edge of her butterfly mask, Keith saw the red start of a bruise beginning.

The girl lifted her head and glared at a person looming over her.

"You make me _sick,_ " she spat. "How dare you treat me this way?"

Keith followed her gaze up, toward the person towering above her, and saw a boy in a blue mask, one fashioned after the Blue Lion, and behind him...

"Oh, no..."

That was Matt's little sister.

She turned her head toward the now-open doors, looked right past Keith, and directly at Matt. Her lithe little shoulders tensed up by her ears, and—

"What is the meaning of this?"

Cutting through the stunned silence that captured the ballroom from the moment the girl in the red dress hit the floor came the familiar, powerful voice of Allura del Altea.

The crowd parted around her like water from a bubble, and only when she got close did Keith see that she was flanked by someone else. Shiro. Of course. Even Keith, who knew how gentle they could both be, could see how intimidating they were when they were angry. He never wanted to be on the business end of their wrath.

And Matt's poor sister... For her to have to deal with that when Keith _knew_ it was her first time entering the public eye presenting as a girl...

_She must be so—_

" _Cheese it!_ "

" _What?!_ "

Matt's sister grabbed the blue-masked boy by the wrist and yanked him behind her, ignoring his startled, confused protests.

It hit Keith just a little too slowly that they were making a run for the door, the one he and Matt were still standing in.

Panicked, afraid of being knocked over by their rush to escape, Keith hopped back, pushing Matt to the right with him, barely allowing the two enough room to get past.

Matt's sister sprinted by, running fast enough to send wind flying off her, and the boy she pulled in tow...

...

...It was funny. Keith couldn't have explained it if he tried. But...

As she pulled the boy past, time seemed to slow. For an instant, Keith could make out every fluttering hair on the boy's head, every minuscule colored speck on his mask, every fold in his suit.

His eyes... From the other side of their gold-tinted lenses, Keith watched the boy's eyes connect with his own.

And then, in an instant, he was gone, dragged down the hallway Keith had just come from, leaving Keith to wonder why his mouth suddenly felt so dry.

* * *

Lance could see his breath.

He doubled over, hands on his knees, lungs burning, and with every gasping pant, he could see his breath.

"What— What the— What the _heck_ was _that?_ " he managed, just barely.

The girl he rescued, bent over the same way he was, shook her head. "I don't think Shiro and Allura would have gotten you in trouble if we explained what happened, but I didn't want to take—take the risk." She swallowed and stood up straight. "You save me, I save you."

Lance nodded and stood up straight as well.

The girl in front of him shivered, and it occurred to Lance that it was still practically winter and she was in a short-sleeved dress. Normally, Lance might have taken that as a chance to show off, but he had no desire to with this particular girl. Probably because she seemed young, though she couldn't be _that_ young if she was accepted into the Garrison.

Still, though, that was no excuse not to be a gentleman, and Lance took off his blazer.

"Here." He handed it to the girl rather than sliding it romantically around her shoulders, and she took it eagerly, shoving her arms into the sleeves and pulling the collar high around her neck.

"Thanks," she said shakily. "For this _and_ for the... You know. Slapping a jerk in the face for me."

"No problem," said Lance. "Why was she picking on you, anyway?"

"Oh." The girl went quiet. "I... Uh..."

"Whatever it is," said Lance, "I'm not a bully. I'm not going to pick on you like she did. So come on. Spill it."

"She, uh..." The girl hung her head. "My mask fell off, and before I could put it back on, she saw what I looked like without it."

"Uh..." Lance raised an eyebrow. "What you looked like...?"

The girl sighed and raised her hands to her mask. Even in the dark, Lance could see the way they trembled.

But, with a sigh, she carefully, timidly pulled her mask off, mussing her short curls in the process.

In the dark, Lance still couldn't quite make out her face, so he raised a hand.

" _Let me see,_ " he said in a sing-songy tone, and the flame that blossomed in his hand let him do just that.

"Oh." Another puff of air rose from his lips in a little, white cloud. "You're that Holt kid. You're in some of my _yyyyoh_ my _god,_ you're a _girl?!_ "

The Holt kid dropped her mask and bent down to quickly pick it up off the grass.

"...Yeah," she said, voice small. "But... I guess not enough of one for butterfly-girl."

All of Lance's shock left at once. The flame in his hand died. He couldn't be surprised when he felt so sad.

"Well, then she was a massive beeyotch," he said, matter-of-fact. "Not that we didn't know that already. But, anyway..." Lance cleared his throat and took his own mask from his face with as dramatic of a flourish as he could muster, raising it off his head and twirling it around in a big arc before pressing it to his chest and bowing low at the waist. "Lance McClain at your service, my lady."

"McClain," deadpanned the Holt girl. "Like, the same Lance McClain that's always starting fights with my brother's-best-friend's-brother?"

"Huh?" Lance lifted his head, and the moment he did, he realized what Holt was talking about. "Oh, right. You're, like, Kogane's friend-in-law." He winced. "Does that make this awkward?"

"Nah," said Holt. "Keith's hangups don't have to be mine."

_Keith's hangups._ Lance felt a strange pulse of pride. Knowing he got under Kogane's skin was oddly thrilling.

"Awesome," said Lance. "So..." He held out his hand. "Does this mean we can be friends now?"

Holt eyed his hand for the second time that night, smirked, and took it in her own.

"Sure," she said confidently. "Friends."

"Cool." Lance held her hand tighter.

He really did it.

He made a friend.

"So, like, what do I call you?" he asked. "Seeing as, like... I'm guessing the name you used to go by doesn't apply anymore."

"Oh." Holt retracted her hand and shrank. "That. Um... Actually, I've been trying to figure that out for a few months. I just..." She took her mask in both hands and flipped it like a large coin. "I haven't decided yet. I'm just kind of hoping teachers stick to 'Miss Holt' until I figure it out."

Lance scratched the back of his neck. "Well... I'd feel pretty weird if I had to call you by a boy name. What about a nickname? At least until you land on a better name you like."

Even in the dark, Lance saw Holt's eyes light up. "Sure. I mean, if you can think of one."

"Hmm..." Lance raised his hand to his chin. It wouldn't be easy, thinking of a name for someone he'd just met. But if he could do it for Hunk, he could do it for Holt.

"What if...?"

He took Holt's bird mask from her hand and raised it to her face. He lowered it again to find Holt looking at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

He broke into a grin.

"I think I've got one."

* * *

"Explain what happened," said Allura. "This instant."

Shiro hung back, already skeptical. He looked from the girl picking herself off the floor to the door Matt's sister had just broken through, and he found Matt looking back at him, just as much concern and skepticism in his eyes as Shiro knew was in his own.

Keith was also there, lingering in the doorway—hair decidedly different from what it was supposed to look like, but Shiro could worry about that later—but rather than taking in the chaos within the ballroom itself, his gaze pointed elsewhere. Down the hallway Matt's sister and her companion had disappeared into.

"That was a boy," said the girl in the red dress, dusting herself off. "A boy, pretending to be a girl. I'm not sure what his motives were. Perhaps to sneak into the girls' restroom and watch them change. Regardless, I tried to put a stop to it, and when I did, that _other_ boy _struck me._ "

"That's not true."

Shiro looked up from the girl in the butterfly mask to find another child, probably a second- or third-year, walking toward them.

He took off his guardian lion mask, revealing the young but stern face of the boy Shiro recognized to be the newly appointed Yellow Guardian, chosen quietly alongside the new Apprentice. If Shiro remembered correctly, his name was Ryan Kinkade.

"I watched it happen from the snack table," explained Kinkade. "I didn't hear what they were saying, but she definitely hit the boy in the blue mask first. She attacked whoever was in the blue dress, too."

"Oh, _that's_ why you were so quiet!"

Shiro looked over Kinkade's head at a boy in an elephant mask standing several feet behind him.

The elephant-masked boy clapped his hands over his... Well, where his mouth would be. His trunk.

"Sorry," he whispered loudly. "I don't— I don't have anything to add. You guys can just ignore me."

Kinkade did just that. "It seemed like the kid in the blue mask was just trying to help. But like I said, I couldn't hear them."

A low buzz of whispers kicked up through the ballroom.

Shiro exchanged a glance with Allura, whose lips were pursed, then looked at the girl in the red dress.

"I know the girl who just ran out," he said firmly. "She can be reckless, even _vengeful,_ but she's not the type to _start_ an altercation. And she's definitely not the type to ogle girls in a public restroom. There's also the fact that she's ten."

"You, however, have an unbiased witness speaking out against you," said Allura. "It's hard to get less biased than a situation where everyone is wearing a mask. Did you really attack a ten-year-old girl?"

"I _told you,_ " growled the girl in the red dress. " _That_ was _not_ a _girl._ "

"Shut up!"

Shiro looked back to the door to find Keith, held back by a startled-looking Matt, face red with anger, looking ready to march across and slap the girl in the red dress himself.

"Yes, she is! You don't know anything!"

" _Keith,_ " hushed Matt, increasingly anxious.

"I see what's going on here," sighed Allura. "Take off your mask, please. I'm going to have to report your behavior, and I'll need to know who you are for that."

"I will _not!_ " barked the girl in the red dress. "You may be an Apprentice, and a Princess, but that does not give you any authority over me at this school."

"She might not have the authority, but I do!"

Like a ray of sunshine breaking through the crowds, one of the school's counselors appeared. And not just any counselor, either. The man whose job it was to keep the relationships between Paladins and Apprentices strong, to keep those bonds connected. A man named Coran.

"Sorry for not speaking up sooner, you two," said Coran cheerfully as he drew closer. "I just wanted to see how well you both could handle it." He stroked his mustache proudly. "I'd like to see either of you as professors at this school someday, after your successors are chosen. You're both fine leaders. As for _you..._ " He turned sharply toward the girl in the red dress, who didn't seem so bold now that someone with Garrison-specific authority had addressed her. "Mask, please."

The girl sheepishly removed her butterfly mask and turned away, visibly embarrassed.

"Miss Luka LeSuiveur... I'm surprised at you." Coran clicked his tongue. "As you know, violence cannot be condoned at the Garrison, _particularly_ when the motive is hate against a marginalized group."

"I was trying to protect the girls of this school!" argued Luka.

"Yes, because you believe a young transgender girl is inherently dangerous much in the same way many in this school believe a young _Galra_ would be inherently dangerous. We don't allow that sort of hate, either." Coran held the mask in both hands behind his back and bent down to smile cheerfully in Luka's face. "That doesn't help your case nearly as much as you think it does." His smile only widened as he straightened his back again. "Now come along, young lady. Suspension means no school-related activities whatsoever. No classes, no cafeteria times, and certainly no masquerade balls. Come along. I'll escort you to your dorm."

Luka made a face, but when Coran began to walk toward the door, she reluctantly followed.

Shiro followed them with his eyes and quickly found Matt and Keith again, and it occurred to Shiro that none of them knew where Matt's sister had gone. Shiro didn't have to look into Matt's eyes for long to see just how worried he was.

"Allura, I have to—"

"I know." Allura set a hand on Shiro's arm, but he didn't turn to look at her. "Go on. I'll stay here in case she comes back."

Shiro grasped her hand on his arm in a brief expression of gratitude before storming ahead, intent on finding Matt, but he'd barely taken a step before something stopped him.

Or, rather, _someone._

"Why do you always have to stick your nose in things that aren't your business?" Adam grabbed a fistful of Shiro's sleeve, forcing him to take a step back and look at him. "That girl was right. It wasn't your responsibility to step in. Or Allura's. Coran was the only person who should have been involved there."

Shiro rolled his eyes and pried Adam's hand from his sleeve. "I don't have time for this."

"Then make time!" Adam caught him by the wrist. "What the hell is so important?"

"Matt's sister ran out of the ballroom," snapped Shiro. "Am I supposed to leave her out there?"

"Let a teacher handle it," Adam snapped right back. "Iverson, Cleare, one of the Paladins— This isn't your job! Why does it have to be you?!"

Shiro met Adam's eyes with a scowl, and Adam sent a blistering glare right back.

"She's part of my family, Adam. I love her." Shiro stole his wrist back. "Maybe if you understood that I can love things—people—that aren't you, what we have would actually be a relationship instead of some puppet show we put on for strangers."

Adam's blistering glare cut right through Shiro, sharper and fiercer than anything Shiro had ever felt.

But he relinquished, and Shiro moved past.

For an instant, Shiro felt guilty. Horribly so. He felt like his blood had coagulated in his veins, slowing down every process in his body.

But he found Matt's eyes through the crowd, and that guilt was pushed aside. He'd talk to Adam later. There wasn't a second to waste.

The moment Shiro drew close enough, he grabbed Matt's arms and held them, _him,_ like the treasure he was.

"Let's find her," said Shiro. "The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be."

"Are you sure?" Matt's eyes flicked over Shiro's shoulder. "What about—?"

"Forget about Adam."

Matt's eyes darted back to Shiro's, stunned wide open, along with his mouth. "Wh— You—"

"I'm going with you guys."

Shiro looked to Keith, who stood at Matt's side, fiercely determined.

"I want to help."

"Are you sure?" asked Shiro.

"Positive," said Keith. "I can..." He lowered his voice. "I can see in the dark better than you."

Shiro released a soft, heavy sigh. Keith was right.

"Okay," said Shiro. "But stay close."

He turned back to Matt, released his arms, and took his hand instead.

"Come on."

* * *

"So..."

Kinkade turned around, attention finally free enough to look at the kid in the elephant mask.

"You're, uh..." The kid wrung his hands. "You're one of James Griffin's friends, right?"

Kinkade clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I am."

"You, uh..." The boy cleared his throat and reached for his mask. When he lowered it—

Oh.

Oh, _great._

Kinkade was used to being associated with Griffin. And he liked Griffin. He did. They grew up together. And he was incredibly loyal when push came to shove. But Griffin had a knack for... Well. Being an asshole. And as Griffin's friend, Kinkade had to face a lot of consequences for his behavior.

But he'd never been confronted by a _potential future Paladin_ about that before.

Kinkade took a breath, a more polite variation of the usual "you can't blame me for what he does" argument already forming on the tip of his tongue, but before that spiel could make its full transformation from thoughts to words, the Yellow Apprentice spoke first.

"You stood up for me."

Kinkade furrowed his brow. "Uh... I think that was Kogane."

"No, not that," said Hunk, setting his drink aside on the edge of the snack table. "I mean, not that what Keith did wasn't super cool, but _before_ he showed up, you tried to get Griffin to leave me alone."

Kinkade wasn't sure what to say to that, so...he didn't say anything at all.

Hunk held his mask in both hands and turned it slowly sliding his fingers around the edge inch by inch. "Also, that was my friend you _also_ stood up for, and that was really cool, too, so, uh. You know." He averted his eyes, hard. Corner-of-the-ceiling hard. "You just... You seem like a really cool guy."

_Uh..._ "Thanks."

Hunk smacked his lips. "...Yeah." He put his mask back on and reached for his drink again. "I, uh. I guess I'll stop. Bugging you. Now. Yeah."

He started to turn away, reaching for a paper plate, probably to resume his frantic consumption of the snack table.

Kinkade looked at his own drink, still his hand. At the straw sticking out of the opening of the aluminum.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, set his mask back on, and returned to the snack table himself.

He grabbed one of the iced sugar cookies off the center plate and passed it to Hunk, who flinched, surprised. Not that Kinkade could blame him.

"You should try these. They're pretty good."

"Oh." Hunk's voice came out high-pitched and anxious. "Y-Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Kinkade. "There's white chocolate in the icing."

" _Dude!_ "

Kinkade raised his eyebrows behind his mask, surprised at how all the nervousness seemed to leave Hunk at once.

"No way! White chocolate icing is my favorite!"

He eagerly took the cookie Kinkade held out for him, set his drink down to slide his mask over his head, and took a bite.

His eyes _shone._

" _Oh,_ that's good. That's so good, dude. Hey—" Hunk shoved the rest of his cookie in his mouth and reached for another cookie nearby. With far more enthusiasm than Kinkade had shown him, he handed a cookie back.

"You look like a spicy kind of guy."

"Spicy?" Kinkade raised an eyebrow and bit into the cookie Hunk gave him.

It _crunched,_ and Kinkade's eyes flew wide open. There was cinnamon. But not like snickerdoodle cinnamon. Flecks of cinnamon candy were seamlessly hidden in the cookie, and...

"Okay. That's pretty good."

Hunk grinned, and Kinkade found himself smiling, too.

* * *

Shiro set a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Do you see her yet?"

Keith pulled his blazer higher around his neck. If there was ever a moment to regret his decision to wash his hair, it would have been then. It was ice cold out, and his hair was still a little damp.

"You'll be the first to know when I do."

"Right..."

Matt was silent. He had been since they left the ballroom. And if Keith had noticed, he _knew_ Shiro noticed.

The fact that they were still holding hands, though... Keith wasn't sure if he was the only one who noticed that or not.

"Hey..." Shiro ducked his head near Matt's ear. "She'll be okay."

"I thought..." Matt sighed, and through the corner of his eye, Keith watched him lean into Shiro's shoulder. "I thought she'd be safe. I thought this would be good for her. I mean, this whole night is supposed to be about fresh starts. I thought, if she came out tonight, she could ease into it without anyone making a big deal about it or stumbling over pronouns or... I thought she could get away with just being _a girl_ for one night instead of being a...a _former-boy_ to anyone. I encouraged it. I helped her pick out a _dress._ I..." Matt sighed again. "I feel like this is my fault."

"It's not your fault," said Shiro.

"I know," said Matt. "I know it's that Luka girl's choice to be an awful person. I know it's not my fault some people still live in the Dark Ages. ...But there's a difference between _knowing_ something and _feeling_ it. And I still _feel_ like it's my fault."

"She'll be okay," said Keith. "She's not the kind of person to let something like this drag her down. If someone else hadn't stepped in, she probably would have fought Luka herself."

Matt laughed weakly. "Guess that's true."

Shiro squeezed Keith's shoulder, a gesture Keith took as a silent thanks. He didn't need thanks. He just wanted to reassure Matt.

Ahead, under a tree, Keith thought he saw movement. It was dark, even for him. The moon didn't reach through the leaves all that easily. But...

"I see her."

Shiro and Matt both stopped in their tracks.

"Under the maple tree," said Keith. "The boy from before's still with her."

The one who...

"Hey!" Matt rushed forward, finally letting go of Shiro's hand. His sister turned away from the boy to look, and the boy...

The boy looked at _Keith._

Just for an instant, and then he ducked behind Matt's sister like he was trying to hide.

"Are you okay?" Matt reached his sister and grabbed her shoulders, held her face, pulled her into his arms. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said his sister, completely ignoring the boy who hid behind her. Ignoring the way he kept stealing glances at Keith past her and Matt before ducking down again like a scared mouse.

"What about emotionally?" asked Matt.

"I'm _fine,_ " repeated his sister as she pulled herself out of his arms. "Mentally, too."

"Um..." Keith took a wary step forward. "Do I...?"

The boy in the blue mask ducked more firmly behind Matt's sister than ever, holding her by the arms and using her as a shield.

"...know you?"

This time, Matt's sister couldn't ignore the boy. She looked over her shoulder, then at Keith. Then she rolled her eyes.

"He's not gonna eat you," she sighed.

Keith pursed his lips. What did that mean?

...Did the boy know Keith was Galra? Is that why he looked at Keith so strangely before?

Keith took a step to the right, trying to get a better look at the boy.

The boy shuffled to the left, still holding onto Matt's sister's arms.

"You can't be serious," she grumbled.

Keith took a step to the left.

The masked boy moved to the right.

"Cut it out!"

Matt's sister wormed out of the boy's hands and put her hands on her hips, the sleeves of her jacket sliding over her hands.

The boy threw his arms over his head and ducked so low he was nearly on his knees.

His eyes darted back to Keith and his entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

He leapt upright, spine completely straight, heels pressed together, one arm behind his back. He cleared his throat, one fist pressed to his mouth, and when he spoke up, he spoke in a voice that clearly wasn't natural. Cartoonishly deep. Like...he was trying to disguise it. Why didn't he want anyone— Why didn't he want _Keith_ to know who he was?

"I should get going," said the boy. "My roo— _Friend,_ is waiting for me in the ballroom." He cleared his throat again and took an awkward, too-big, sideways, sliding step. "I'll, uhh... See you in class, Pidge."

"'Pidge'?" echoed Keith, only more confused.

The boy in the blue mask didn't clarify himself. Nor did he wait for Keith or anyone else to ask. He just started to run back toward the ballroom.

Keith started after him, but he was stopped by a steady, familiar hand on his shoulder.

He looked up at Shiro, and Shiro looked back, eyebrows raised with what looked like amusement.

"Hey, nerd!" Matt's sister quickly took her jacket off, which Keith had just realized matched the boy's trousers, and she balled it up tight before throwing it as high and as far as she could.

Keith watched the masked boy turn around and hastily change course. He ran a solid five feet to the sharp right of where he'd been headed to catch his own jacket as it unfolded in the air and drifted gently down.

"Your aim sucks!" he called, dropping the fake voice.

"So get better at catching!" Matt's sister called back.

"Screw you, Pidge!" The boy laughed, like the way friends did when they were teasing each other but Keith never had.

Behind his back, Keith heard Matt ask if "Pidge" was his sister's new name, and she said something about it being a "working title", but Keith was barely listening.

People with Strain magic were best known for their bravery. Keith had never felt particularly brave. But something _else_ they were known for was their tendency to follow their instincts. _That_ was a badge Keith wore proudly.

And his gut was telling him _something._

He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but as that boy in the blue mask retreated under the moonlight, the golden eyes of that mask met Keith's one more time, and Keith _felt something._

...He felt something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Other Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992734/chapters/60512926)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/youareinacoma?lang=en)   
>  [Discord](https://discord.gg/BtX9duD)
> 
> 6-1-34 // 1-3-8 // 1-2-13 // 5-2-26 // 1-2-7 // 1-2-11 // 1-1-16


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